Sleeping Beauty
by Starbrow
Summary: Enchantments are meant to be broken, aren't they? And Princesses are meant to be kissed. But not Queens. Never Queens. A Lucian fairy tale.
1. Green Monsters

Sleeping Beauty

_by Starbrow_

**Summary: **Enchantments are meant to be broken, aren't they? And Princesses are meant to be kissed. But not Queens. Never Queens. A Lucian fairy tale.

**Rating/Warnings:** T for later chapters, which contain sensuality and adult concepts. This is a slow burn, but there are some tricky things coming up in future chapters (I will warn as they happen). No underage sex, violence, profanity, abuse, torture, or incest. If you believe that joyous consensual romance has no place in Narnia, you may not be so happy with this fic.

**A/N:** I have finally come up with a Lucian that I am content with! This has been ten years in the waiting, my friends. Shout out to Metonomia, a fellow Lucianite who got me started on this track of thinking, and rthstewart, whose Not My Children's Narnia has most certainly influenced aspects of this story (plus she's just awesome in general, and you should go read her and Meto's fics). So, enjoy!

* * *

_In the world from which they came, they have a story of a prince or a king coming to a castle where all the people lay in an enchanted sleep. In that story he could not dissolve the enchantment until he had kissed the Princess._

-The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Chapter 13

* * *

**Chapter 1: Green Monsters**

* * *

Lucy sat on the portside railing on the main deck of the _Dawn Treader, _gazing on the glinting expanses of sea. The sun was just about to dip below the western horizon of the calm seas, where they could no longer see in the distance the Island of the Dufflepuds (as Caspian had named it on Coriakin's map). Although the fading light and proximity to the last isle made the sight of new land unlikely, Edmund still stood at his familiar lookout on the fighting top. Lucy looked rather enviously up at the coveted place of privacy, and Edmund caught her glance and beckoned her up.

So Lucy scrambled up the rigging as easily as any sailor – funny how that came back so easily from her days on the _Hyaline _and _Gazelle _and _Wayferer_ – and joined her brother on the narrow platform overlooking the rest of the ship. There the feeling of _flying_ was thick upon them, one of the many reasons Lucy loved this post, where the wind was so much windier and the salt air tangier and the skies so much closer, and the earth beneath seemed to fall away and leave only the sense of being carried upon the rushing drafts. Her footing felt sure – oh how well she remembered the practiced stances she and Susan grew accustomed to in preparation for sea battles! – and it still felt slightly odd to be up on the fighting top unarmed, her arm and shoulder free of the weight of quiver and bow.

All about them were the soft watercolors of a peaceful setting sun, which was much different than the fiery palette of a stormy day's dusk. Now all that was left were the red and purple brushstrokes of its fading light beneath the horizon.

"All right, Lucy," said Edmund after a companionable silence had fallen between them. "Out with it. You've been too quiet ever since you went up those stairs at the Magician's house. What happened up there?"

Lucy had to smile ruefully. Edmund had not lost a bit of the perceptiveness – or forthrightness – he was so known for during their reign. "Is it that obvious?"

"After twenty-five years? Yes." Edmund grinned. "But I doubt anyone else has such vast observational experience."

"I'm lucky there's only one of you then."

"You are very nearly as bad, you know."

"But less stubborn."

"Probably more," said Edmund with a shake of his head. "I'm just more persistent. And thus I won't be so easily diverted as that. The Magician's house. You – you _are_ all right, aren't you Lu?"

"Yes, oh yes, he was lovely!" said Lucy. "And it all turned out so well. All of our worrying for nothing."

"Then what's bothering you?"

Lucy took a deep breath, but after all, this was _Edmund_, who had heard her darkest secrets for decades and never once blinked twice at any of her confessions. She said slowly, "I told you I said the spell to make the Duffles visible, and the Magician and Aslan. But I never told you of the other spells in the book. Ones that I said and… almost said."

"Was it very bad?" asked Edmund, his eyes intent on her face.

"Oh Edmund, I was so ashamed. They were such _petty_ spells I wanted to do – mean shallow things to gratify my own selfishness. It was so bad that Aslan had to stop me from saying one of them."

"Will you tell me?"

"Of course I will – but you will think much less of me for it."

"Never," he vowed.

Lucy bit her lip. "It – it was a beauty spell. How _silly_ is that!"

"What's so very bad about that?"

"It would have me beautiful beyond the lot of mortals, and kings of every land between Ettinsmoor and Calormen and beyond the sea would have fought over me until thousands were slain in open warfare."

"But that could not be what you really wanted," Edmund said with a slight frown.

"Never!" Lucy exclaimed. "For a single man to die over me – _me_ – how despicable would I be to wish for such a thing! It was _horrid_. I even saw myself in England, the most beautiful woman you could imagine, and Susan was so angry and nobody thought she was the least bit pretty anymore." Lucy's voice had dropped to a murmur at the ugly words.

"Susan? Surely you are not jealous of _Susan?_"

Lucy felt the beginnings of tears start to well up behind her eyes. "How could I be? My own sister, who I love more than words? Surely not! No, Edmund, I am jealous of _myself_."

Edmund's puzzlement was quite evident. "What do you have to be jealous of?"

"Who I was," Lucy said, shame-faced, her hand pressed to her cheek with the mortification. "Who I used to be. Queen. Grown-up. Brave. Powerful. Everything I'm not anymore."

Edmund awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders, and the characteristically gruff mannerism which was so _Edmund _made Lucy tear up even more. "That's not true, Lu," he said. "Not at all. Always a Queen. Remember?"

She sniffled. "Yes. Of course."

"And grown-up or no, your bravery is never in question. As for power…well, we just have a different kind of power now." Edmund looked thoughtfully down below them, a somber expression of regret passing over his features, reminding her of his face after Deathwater Island, and Lucy knew he understood.

"It's different, isn't it?" she said, leaning against his shoulder. "No less wonderful. But it's hard. Knowing we'll have to go back again to being just kids eventually. Knowing we'll never be the rulers of Narnia as we once were."

"It has been on my mind," he admitted. "Especially in the past few adventures. Letting Caspian rescue us in Narrowhaven – Lu, you _know_ how much I wanted to set upon the slavers and free ourselves and the other prisoners when we had the chance. But that wasn't Caspian's way."

"Yes, he is a different sort of King," Lucy said, her eyes drifting to the darkened main deck in unconscious search for the King in question, finally finding him deep in conversation with Drinian on the forecastle. "But a noble one. Narnia is in the right hands, Edmund. She does not need our rule any longer."

Though he bowed his head in acknowledgement, Edmund sighed. "That does not mean we don't still need Narnia."

As the first stars appeared in the northernmost skies – her beloved stars, some of Lucy's earliest friends in Narnia – the truth of Edmund's words sank in. She felt something more than tears, something that felt like bursting out of her.

"I wish we could stay for a long, long time again," said Lucy impetuously. "I don't want to go back. I don't want to be just a little girl, Ed! Peter is practically a man now…Susan is nearly as beautiful and sophisticated as she was when we left Narnia the first time. And I know that sounds like jealousy. But I'm not, honestly. I don't care one whit about being more beautiful than her. If I was jealous, it would be that Susan is so much nearer to her true self than I am. And it will be so _very long_ before I will be there, if ever!" She knew she sounded petulant, but all of the emotions that nearly saying that awful spell had evoked were still simmering there, ugly and low and utterly dishonorable.

Peter would have stroked her hair and kissed her and assured her that she would grow up quick enough. Susan would have wondered if she'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, and would have sent her to bed with warm milk and soothing compliments. But Edmund _knew. _"You are not the only one, Lucy," said Edmund in a low voice. "There may have very well been a spell in that book for me."

As was his custom, Edmund did not divulge the rest of his thoughts out loud, for Lucy could read his eyes perfectly. It was a better comfort than mere words or caresses could have been – knowing that her brother too mourned the loss of their old lives and all that they had left there, and felt its lack when they looked at their older brother and sister, already so grown up and assured in their paths.

* * *

Half an hour later, the two of them climbed down from the top past the dark rippling purple sail and onto the dwindling main deck, as many of the crew who were not still lingering in the galley were turning in already. "Your Highness, a game tonight?" called Reepicheep from the poop deck. Lucy regretfully turned down the offer of chess with the gallant Mouse, considering her distracted state of mind that night, which would certainly not bode well for her chances of winning against her tactically gifted opponent. She turned toward the door of her cabin.

"Lucy." Out of the darkness, Caspian suddenly materialized beside her and had put a hand on her shoulder. "I fear I was remiss in properly acknowledging your successful adventure during all the commotion of the Magician's grounds. I hope you will accept my commendation belatedly." Even in the shadows of the dark aft of the deck, Caspian's smile shone brightly.

"Oh!" said Lucy, very surprised. "I did almost nothing, you know. The Magician's spellbook did most of the work. Any of us would have been game to do it, I imagine."

"I am not so sure, Queen," said Caspian, letting go of her shoulder but leaning in to speak softly with her. "For your bravery in the face of an unknown enemy and fearsome wizardry was beyond that of any of my men – and I have very brave men in my crew."

Lucy flushed at the praise and looked guiltily around, but there was no one close by to hear; Edmund had already disappeared below deck. "You do not take exception for Reepicheep?" she said archly.

"I said _men_," Caspian reiterated, in kind. "We already know that Narnian mice and women have the most courage of us all."

Though he spoke lightly, the approval in his voice warmed Lucy like a comfortable hearthfire. But his thoughtful use of the word _women_ completely flustered her composure and she found herself stammering thereafter.

"Do you – I mean – are you in need of any sets of clothing from your cabin?" she inquired, before remembering – _like an idiot, Lucy! – _that one of the benefits of landing upon a Magician's isle was the magically clean loads of washing one departed with.

"I'm sure I shall before long, if your kinsmen keep borrowing my tunics," Caspian said, quite mercifully passing over her faux pas. "And when you have grown weary of always losing to a Mouse, I would be quite happy to challenge your Queen and her company with my King, although I am sure your victory would be swift and tediously easy for you." Apparently he had overhead Reepicheep's offer and was privy to her losing record.

"I shall be sure to let you know when I have been thoroughly trounced by Reepicheep," Lucy managed, not too unsteadily, "and we shall see how our royalty fares."

They bid each other goodnight at Lucy's – well, Caspian's – cabin door, and Lucy scrabbled for the latch with burning cheeks and galloping heartbeat. She couldn't see for a moment in the darkness of the cabin, though her eyes were adjusted to the dark by now, from the hot wave of blushes that set her face on fire.

For there was one secret Lucy _had_ kept from her brother, not out of fear for his judgment, but because she knew he would advise her to give up such a fruitless dream. And oh, how she knew it was! But who would choose to wake up from a beautiful dream simply because they knew they were only dreaming? No, Lucy would rather let hope fill her with the thrill of its potential and wither unfulfilled than to never know its wild sweet calling and never feel the throb of its living pulse in her veins. And so she slept that night with her mind wide open to the golden tales that spun and danced across her racing imagination, as they filled her dreams with magicked visions of what would never be.

* * *

_For the sleeping Queen was in love with the King, but he was looking for a Princess…_

* * *

To be continued...


	2. White Flag

**Chapter 2: White Flag**

**Chapter rating:** K+ for alcohol use and Otter summer songs ;-)

* * *

_The King had searched far and wide for a Princess to marry, traveling to many lands in his quest for a bride who would be his equal and love his land as he did. But he could find none who had the strength to claim his heart. Then one day he came upon a castle wrapped in overgrown vines and trees, crumbling with a hundred years of slumber…_

* * *

The hours slipped by as quickly as a sigh, and days grew longer and nights more calm and warm, and the sunsets ever more glorious. If only the ship were not so _very _small! Lucy loved every inch of the _Dawn Treader_, but after a week of no land, no pressing adventures to occupy their thoughts, and no relief from her constant alternation between happiness and uncertainty, her dilemma was getting worse and not better. It was not exactly cabin fever, but a dreadful urge to _do_ something, rather than this torturous waiting.

In the days that followed their departure from the Island of the Duffles, Lucy did _not_ lock herself in her borrowed cabin (as she secretly thought of doing), The _Dawn Treader_ was confined enough that there were always at least a dozen people around them at all times, which gave Lucy much practice at maintaining her composure when chatting with the ever-present Caspian, no small task when a golden-haired King smiles at one and one's eagle-eyed brother and fact-hungry cousin is at one's elbow to catch the smallest quiver.

Not that Edmund would have stopped Lucy if he had known – she had never feared that – for her brother had always been magnificently broad-minded when it came to trusting his sisters' judgment in affairs of the heart. But Lucy also knew that the slightest clue would have Edmund getting the whole story out of her and she simply could not bear the thought of her small kindling of hope exposed to the cold winds of pragmatic reality. She did not want to hear _logic_ : that she was still technically a child, that they would be leaving Narnia again sooner or later (probably sooner), that she knew better than to go through this all over again, that the next Queen of Narnia would not be her. And not that Edmund would have said all or any of these things to her – he was Just, not harsh – but Lucy was literate in the language of Edmund's face and his eyes would tell her all these things.

And she did try, as hard as she could. At first Lucy thought she could remember how it felt to be laughing and fancy-free without this strange mad fluttering in the depths of her stomach, back to the time when they had just boarded the _Dawn Treader_ and walked under Narnia's sun once again. Yes, surely that must be safe, thinking of the memories of their very first days at sea; but such recollections simply brought back the sensation of strong arms around her waist pulling her to safety, the sight of a much taller and broader Caspian in dripping wet clothes beside her in his tiny cabin, the wild smell of the cordial that made him glance at her in wonder, the sound of his clear voice proclaiming her freedom and safety in the slave markets of Narrowhaven, the taste of salt air upon her lips as winds showered the ghost of kisses from centuries past upon them.

Clearly, memories were the wrong way to go.

To prevent herself from going mad, Lucy talked with _everyone_ during that week. "Hullo Cerdic, Rynelf," she would greet the men as she brought them refreshment during their routine tasks upon the ship. "Water this time? Or wine?" She already knew each crew member by name, and they all were happy to talk with someone who would listen to their stories of home or their plans for a craft of their own someday (well-worn litanies aboard ship) with an eager ear.

Wherever she could, Lucy also enthusiastically tackled the less favorable chores on deck – galley preparation and dish washing, and cleaning out the hens' coop (Coriakin had graciously given them poultry to replace the ones they lost in the storm), and scrubbing the deck (the first time the crew saw the Queen of old squatting on the forecastle heartily attacking the dirty boards with a bristle brush, the outcry was great, but as Edmund said she was stubborn and argued convincingly that it was the _least_ she could do to compensate for her total failure as an oarsman).

And of course, she played a great deal of chess. (And lost a great deal of chess.)

And when all the chores were done and she still had long summer days to fill with not-fancying-Caspian, there was very little to do _but_ talk, and Lucy found herself falling back into her old role of storyteller as Queen Lucy of the Golden Age. Sometimes after dinner she would be asked to tell of this or that tale of Narnia's early days, or to tell one they had never heard before, or to make up one of her own. These she obliged gladly, the long-disused courtly language of the bardic style slowly returning to her tongue and mingling with her own animated turns of phrases.

But the nights she treasured most were those in which she was invited down to the cozy little cabin beneath deck which Edmund and Eustace and Caspian shared, where she could join in their evening exchange of stories and songs. Caspian never tired of hearing their accounts of the earliest Kings and Queens of Narnia – at least, as it had been told to Edmund and Lucy, for much of the written lore from the centuries before their reign had been lost in the Great Winter.

Even more frequently, he would request a tale of their own time; the Battle of Beruna, of course, but also the many lesser wars and battles they fought in the first three years and the establishment of their rule from a fragmented country in disarray. And so they told him of those hard early years, abandoning the high style to convey more accurately the trials and turmoil of building a kingdom from the ground up. Edmund of course exaggerated her role in establishing friendly relations between the disparate clans and settlements of the wildly disorganized regions, and so in turn she credited him with revising and enforcing the entire morass of the judicial system they had inherited (well, he had!).

Then, Caspian discovered that she could sing – more accurately, that she had studied with the most celebrated bards of Narnia's golden age – and Lucy found to her intense embarrassment that she was called upon to sing nightly for them. This was very different than storytelling, for the latter usually involved a progression of "how did that one go?" and "wasn't it more like…", with several interjections from one or the other – or dubious questions from Eustace, who _thank goodness_ had been un-rottened along with un-dragoned or otherwise he would have been simply miserable during these nights.

But when she sang, Lucy became acutely aware of how small the cabin truly was and how disconcerting it was to be the sole center of fixed attention when one's audience was barely a foot away. Calling up the old melodies and cantos demanded a great deal of concentration, thankfully, or else the proximity of Caspian and his steady gaze would have been dreadfully taxing on her self-control.

Yet each time, as she sat beside Eustace on the small bunk and wove the long-forgotten ballads that she had loved so much as Queen, Lucy felt her discomfort slipping away into the pleasure of the music. Time itself ceased to matter when she was once again Lucy Balladeer, who knew the songs as no other living soul did, who had spent decades learning Narnia's music.

As she sang, memories – this time comforting and with no bitter tinge – flooded back to Lucy. The magical strains that had caught her ear as a girl, listening first to Mr. Tumnus's pipes, then the Merfolk's songs at their coronation, and later to the long-expatriated musicians who had furtively kept the craft alive in Archenland during the Witch's reign, had drawn her inescapably to learn their refrains and seek out every living bard of the Narnian tradition. They brought their instruments – the stringed kithara and keyed dulcet, harp-like kinnor and wooden tambors – and added them to the simple flutes and drums that were already common amongst the Narnians. Lucy was an eager student, and glad of a patron and haven for their arts, the bards taught her their skills of melody and harmony and instrumentation.

In the years of peace that followed the early wars, Lucy had found and catalogued every scrap of written music in the dusty disorganized library of Cair Paravel (thanks in no small part to Edmund's assistance). She and her school of minstrelsy then began the laborious task of learning to read it, for Narnian music is much different than our dry flat symbols. It is almost a living breathing thing, capturing the wild sweet tones on paper with illuminations so brilliant and intricate that one can hardly concentrate on making out the notes. Though many were faded with centuries of age and some were missing pages, the manuscripts still seemed to almost _move_ when Lucy would first glance at them, vivid histories and legends entwined inseparably in the notes. It took the combined efforts of all the assembled bards and musicians to decipher these pages into actual tones and rhythms; most of the refugees from Archenland had relied on a purely oral tradition of song-lore, so they had to piece together the known ballads with any corresponding bits of manuscript in order to work out the notation system.

But oh, the beauty that rose from voice and strings and keys when they finally pulled the songs off the pages and into the air for the first time! It made every labored hour of toil well spent to hear at last the music that Old Narnia had first sung into being: otherworldly, penetrating, dangerous, and unbearably beautiful. Lucy could never properly describe the feelings that it conjured for her – they went far beyond words – and the closest she could come was that of Aslan himself: it was not safe…but it was good.

* * *

On that seventh night in the lamplight of the narrow cabin, she sang of Queen Endelient, who ruled Narnia two hundred years before Swanwhite. It was not a happy tale. The Queen had loved unwisely, and her lover had betrayed her to the brutal Telmarines who, having successfully occupied their own country for a century, lusted for Narnia as well. Not knowing of her faithless love's treachery, Endelient had died by her own hand to save his life, as she thought. Narnia, it was said, very nearly fell to Telmar while the Narnians desperately instated the Queen's much younger sister on the throne.

Lucy had not _planned_ to tell such a morbid tale – it was all Caspian's fault for humming a bit of a melody that his nurse had sang as a lullaby to him, a tune he said was "utterly bewitching," and begging for the full ballad. She froze when she heard it, and all the remembrances of the tale and its last telling came sharply, unavoidably back to her.

Lucy was tangibly reluctant to sing the blatantly romantic and tragic epic – "it's not exactly Eustace and Edmund's cup of tea," she protested. Edmund looked sharply at her, and said off-handedly that a rousing chorus of _When a Dryad Asks You to Pollinate, Always Answer Yes _would be more the thing. (The only tunes he would sing in their day, quite off-key and mostly under the persuasion of heavy spirits, were the more "colorful" kind that the Satyrs and Otters loved to sing in the hot summer nights. Lucy was not at all surprised when such barnburners as _Euan Oi-Oi-Oi With Glee_ and _A Wild Girl Gives a Merry Chase ._ could occasionally be heard rising from the underdeck cabin when the wine was flowing freely on board the _Treader_.)

"I am not afraid of a little tragedy," Caspian said with an irresistible smile. Lucy admitted to herself that singing this tale to _Caspian_ was not her idea of auspicious foreshadowing. But he insisted that they would _all _ – and here he looked meaningfully at the other two – like to hear the tale, and that he himself would especially love to hear the tune sung by a master singer.

She couldn't resist such a plea, and so despite her misgivings, Lucy sang of the ill-fated Queen and her love, although it was a much different performance than what she had given in Cair Paravel in the old days. Then, Lucy had played the keys of her dulcet as she sang, accompanied by several kitharas, and Rildor and Andimar had sung the stanzas of the Telmarine traitors, and Torin, who usually played his kinnor in graceful counterpoint with them, sat amongst the audience listening to their ballad. The acoustics of the Great Hall would always carry their voices with reverberating sweetness.

Here, there were no instruments to place the chords – what she wouldn't give to touch a dulcet again! – and the song truly called for the melancholy of its minor harmonies. Without the regular practice and training of her former studies, not to mention the drastic reversal of her age, Lucy knew her voice was far more fragile and clumsy than what it used to be, and the tiny cabin's sloping walls did it no favors.

But there was simply nothing like singing Old Narnia's music in Narnia itself, and seeing the play of memories across Edmund's face as he fell (reluctantly, as he always had) under the spell of its witchery. Even Eustace seemed interested in the intrigues of the story, despite the shake of his head when she came to the stanza of Endelient's needless death. And Caspian – well, whenever her gaze fell on him during the course of the ballad, his eyes were always fixed upon her, drinking in each note and syllable as though it was a wonderful vintage.

There was a lovely stillness as she came to the end of the tale. For a good while nobody spoke.

"My thanks, Lucy," said Caspian at last, hands behind his head as he lay in the low-slung hammock nearest the bunk. He looked very thoughtful. "That song has haunted my dreams ever since I was a boy, but I have never heard it sung in full. I believe my Nurse picked the happiest verses to croon over me, for I never knew it was a sad story."

"You _did_ warn us," Edmund pointed out, grinning slightly at Lucy.

"It didn't make sense," said Eustace beside her. "Why didn't Endeli-lady just kill the Telmarines? Or the chap who turned her over? She didn't have to pull that Shakespeare rot just because she was in a bad way."

"She did it for love," said Caspian, almost wistfully. "To save Imradorn. She knew she would be slain by her enemies no matter what she said or did, and she believed her lover could be spared if she offered her life willingly. The tragedy of it, of course, is that her sacrifice was in vain."

Lucy met his eyes and saw a kindred understanding of what she felt. Oh Aslan, his eyes were blue, they were nothing like – no, don't think of that. "I think she would have done it, even if she had known," said Lucy softly. "Isn't that what love is? Believing even beyond hope? And the willingness to lay down even one's life for another."

"I pray it is so," said Caspian.

Eustace gave a slight snort, and Lucy poked him. To settle the inevitable scuffle, and also quite thoughtfully, Edmund handed Lucy a flagon of wine as he always used to after her ballads, and though the spiced wine was quite different than the heady potent libations from the Satyrs' vineyards that flowed in those feastdays, she drank eagerly and quickly, til the cup was empty. She peered regretfully into the bottom of the vessel.

"I brought the whole bottle," said Edmund, grinning, and produced the promised liquid.

"So did I," admitted Caspian, pointing to his own acquisition of refreshment stashed in the corner of the cabin.

The wine flowed freely that night as songs turned to more merry stories of the doings of Cair Paravel since their absence. It seemed as though several hours that passed before they finally grew sleepy enough to bed down for the night – Eustace had passed out a good fifteen minutes before this – and Edmund (who had always been a bear about his rest) put his blanket over his head and pointedly ignored the other two.

Lucy moved to the door of the cabin, her lamp in her hand. Caspian, a bit gropingly, caught her by the arm as she passed his hammock. "I am glad you came this night," he said in a low voice. "You were – well, you sang beautifully."

"Thank you," said Lucy automatically, even as her heart stopped for a moment and a ghostly parade of past remembrances came galloping full tilt into her head. The words. The ballad – dear Aslan, she _wanted _ to forget, she did, she did. And they were nothing alike. They looked, they sounded nothing alike. And Caspian was very, very real here, looking contentedly at her with a drowsy smile.

"I challenge you Queen, for tomorrow night," said Caspian in a slurred, teasing voice.

"I accept," said Lucy, for she had no choice but to accept. She was Valiant, and she could not put her hands up and surrender to the darkness of her defeats. She would not let her frailty betray her now.

"Till tomorrow then."

Lucy nodded. "Sleep well, Caspian." She slipped past him to the door and let herself out, and it was not until she had left the cabin that the strain of the agonizing memories showed upon her face. She was blinded for a moment by the full force of how much it _hurt_, and her hands curled into fists so that she might not scream from the ache. Her dreams would be no comfort tonight.

* * *

_The King did not know that the lady who lay sleeping inside that castle was no princess, but the Queen of that castle and of those lands, and that she could only be awakened from her long enchantment by the kiss of her true love._

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter was written under the influence of several pieces of music: Loreena McKennitt's "The Highwayman" and Dido's "White Flag" (_"I will go down with this ship…"_ :SOB:). Things are not always what they seem…and Lucy has much much further to go in her journey. Drop me a line and let me know what you think so far!


	3. Linen Sheets

**Ch 3: Linen Sheets**

**Chapter warnings:** Alrighty folks, here's where it gets T. Coming up: sensuality and naughty references Nothing underage.

**A/N: **In case it isn't obvious by now, this is bookverse and (fairly) canon-compliant: Lucy is just turned 11 (dang it, I wanted her to be a Sagittarius) and Caspian is 16, and they both have blonde hair.

* * *

_And so the sleeping Queen waited for the King to arrive and break the strong enchantment that made her lie there still and silent for more than a hundred years, but the King did not come._

* * *

The darkness was mocking and did not feel at all kindly to Lucy as she climbed the aft ladder, lantern in hand, fingers shaking around the wrought handle. Her stars in the Northern sky were twinkling overhead, but they shifted and blurred strangely in her vision and she did not linger at the sight as she usually would. Instead Lucy hurried to the door of the stern cabin, pulling it open with a jerk and entering the dark space blindly, despite the light in her hand.

The silver Dwarf-forged lantern swung unlit from the ceiling of the cabin, gleaming very faintly, and she swayed for a moment in the doorway watching its motion. Then she shut the door behind her and turned around to face the forward wall. There above the lentil was the familiar gold outline of the Lion's mane, his eyes searching her even through the flat painted lines. She stared up at it, unthinkingly standing on tiptoe and reaching her fingers as if she could touch it, but of course it was much too high, and her hand felt nothing but the smooth hard wood of the door.

On the starboard side, unwelcome dreams awaited.

Why in Narnia had she sung that story tonight?

Lucy stumbled into her tiny room, a rush of wine clouding her footsteps unexpectedly, but still clear enough to feel the full consequences of her foolish, _foolish_ choice of song that evening.

She might have sung any number of pieces that were full of glory and adventure, and _safe_…

And like a silly fool, she had gone and sung the fateful ballad that somehow she knew was a harbinger of nothing good. All because a King asked nicely.

Lucy put a hand to her face, ashamed of her own weakness and naivety, unavoidable as a girl of eleven, and unpardonable for the woman of twenty-five that she should be. Aslan help her, for the things she wished were nothing but ridiculous fantasies, things that would never come to be, that would give naught but dashed hopes and re-broken dreams.

Why should this boy with his disarming smile and golden hair reduce her so to a helpless idiotic state of vulnerability? She was Lucy the Valiant; she had commanded armies; she had sat at Cair Paravel with three thrones around her empty, and launched whole fleets under her strong hand. She had not feared any man, nor woman nor beast, as Queen. And she was once again in her own country, though not as ruler, but it had not changed much despite that. She still saw the same stars at night, breathed the same clear air, felt the familiar feel of soft doeskin leggings and linen tunic taking the place of scratchy English wool, and all she could think about was how Caspian's clothes smelled so much like him…

Lucy felt like a stranger to herself.

Bed, if it had promised true dreamless sleep, would have been a relief, but there were still things like boots to unlace and face to wash in the basin of water upon the nightstand – the cool water was a welcome shock to her skin – and hair to braid for the night. The lamp she had carried illuminated the mirror above the stand, and Lucy turned away from the vision she saw there, cruelly childish and commonplace with features that spoke much too plainly of what they felt.

She did not wish she had said the beauty spell, but she would not have denied that the thought of it drifted in and out of her mind as she prepared for bed. Rather automatically, she removed the finely woven shirt that fell well past her thighs and exchanged it for an exceptionally soft one that served as a nightgown (she had filched it out of Caspian's locker several weeks before, admiring its silklike fiber and water-smooth texture).

As she did so, Lucy contemplated the vibrant painted panels of Caspian's cabin and wondered what each creature had meant to him. Had he met a dragon before Eustace? Surely not, for the crimson figure that coiled and flared across the starboard wall was nothing like the glittering serpent-like Dragons she remembered from the quite alarming draconian councils where each participant did its best to outsmart the others in a dangerous dance of wits. (Besides, it was fairly obvious to Lucy that dragons, like many bears, had grown stupid and witless during the long centuries since her time; perhaps their greed had finally turned them into dumb animals.)

And there were birds and leopards and foxes and badgers in glorious colors and lifelike poses, but Lucy thought as she stared at them that they did not look as though they could talk. Not like the birds and beasts of her dear long-lost manuscripts, nor indeed like her old friends and dearest companions of so long ago. She wondered, not for the first time, what effect a childhood of seclusion and deceptive politics had had on Caspian's comprehension of Narnian ways and histories. It was clear to her that he had a keen thirst for her and Edmund's knowledge and insight about this strange and complicated world into which he had been thrust so abruptly – very close, she thought wryly, to their own initial reaction to Narnia. And yet his leadership was often very Telmarine in style, his understanding of the complexities of managing beasts and not-quite-Humans imperfectly developed; and Lucy reflected from her observations that he was probably much less impressionable by his Narnian counselors than they had been. And now the painted animals were starting to move a bit. Time to sit down on the bed.

Why did her chest hurt so? Her memory were beginning to swirl strangely, and Lucy tried her very hardest to recall what was so very troubling about Caspian's words to her at their parting. It was the ballad…yes, the ballad…and, perhaps, the praise? But it was a good thing, coming from Caspian's mouth. It should not bother her so. Oh, why could she not _remember!_

Lucy gripped the edge of the bed with her hands, feeling the cool sheets under her fingertips, grounding her senses. She was _tired_ of this business of not knowing if she was coming or going. She wanted so badly to be sure of something, anything, that would not change or shift no matter how many times she grew up or grew young again. It was hard, oh, so very hard. She leaned her head wearily against the frame of the bunk that edged the starboard wall, near the small paned window.

Probably she should just lie down. But…she could swear the wood had the faintest scent to it. She put her nose against the smooth frame and inhaled. Cherry wood. Yes, that was it. Dark and sweet, a hint of fruit in the rich wooded smell. She could almost imagine the tree it might have come from.

The gentle _slap-slap_ of the waters against the hull was a hypnotic lullaby. She did not want to sleep, but her body demanded a soft bed, _now. _ Lucy crawled into the snug low-ceilinged bunk, which she noted hazily was quite large enough for two, and pulled the fine sheets up to her chest. She laid her face against Caspian's pillow, breathing deeply. She could smell _him_, and the slightest hint of cherry wood…

And as she slept, Lucy _remembered…_

* * *

_Dressed in her best robes, she was stepping through a doorway and into the corridor that ran behind the Great Hall, where fewer Men and Beasts were likely to roam after the feast. In one hand she held her dulcet, packed carefully in its velvet-lined case with intricate carvings on the outer lids. The other hand was pressed in a fist of joy to her chest, and she briefly closed her eyes from the pure delight of the evening._

_At the sound of her name from the voice she knew so well, though, her eyes flew open and she broke into a run. Her slippered feet made almost no noise on the stone floor of the hall. Skillful hands caught her in a tight embrace as she dropped the case (not so very carefully) to the ground. "Most excellently done, my Queen," her beloved said, lips brushing her ear tenderly as he bent his head over hers. "It was well worth the wait."_

_"Did you truly like it?" she asked, arms wrapped around the broad muscles of his back._

_"None but you could have composed it," said Torin, and his voice was full of fierce pride. "Had I not seen your creation of it firsthand, I would still have known it was your own song. It had a magic to it that only a Lucy could make." He touched her cheek softly; she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and the profound approval she found in his eyes was almost as wonderful as the unspoken passion she always saw there._

_She stood on her tiptoes. "Have I earned a kiss?"_

_"Most assuredly," he murmured, and his lips fell upon hers and Lucy was lost._

_When she came up for air again, breathless, she discovered that her hands had made their way to tangle in the dark lengths of his hair, while his hands were considerably lower. With some effort, Lucy returned to the topic at hand. "I was so hoping you would find it worthwhile. You are my harshest critic, you know, being so well-versed in our arts – erm, what are you doing? – and I wanted so to show it you before now. I worked on it for so long, and I was starting to believe it was – ahhhh, that tickles! – complete rubbish."_

_She pulled his hand up to the small of her back, and he laughed. "Not complete rubbish. Only utter delight. I thought I recognized some of the descriptions of the soldier. Strong. Handsome. Fairly useless."_

_"Yes, the latter quality I based on you," she said with a devilish grin. "And his diverse roots – you will notice he was not pure Narnian – " _

_"I did notice that," said Torin as his hands began to drift again, this time higher. "I believe you made him part Telmarine. I must regretfully inform you that I only have Calormene and possibly Terebinthian blood in my less reputable history – that I know of, at least."_

_She gave an airy handwave. "Poetic license. And I elevated your rank quite a bit. Adestian was no mere soldier, but a brave knight of the Queen's service. Much more heroic material than a mere bard," she teased._

_"So I am not in the Queen's service, eh?" said Torin, arching one eyebrow at her. "I have yet to be informed of this development. Pray tell who then my brave and knowledgeable benefactress is. I should report immediately to this mysterious lady, even though I am but a humble bard as you say." He underscored his gallantry with some dangerously high motions demonstrating his devotion._

_"Mm – well, I shall be glad to inform her of your presence but there must be a lengthy – oh! – screening process. Formalities, you understand."_

_"Perfectly, my lady," he whispered. His graceful hands, so skilled upon the kithara and kinnor, danced across her body, playing her as easily as any instrument. "But I am not done making you sing tonight, little Queen." The smile on his face was positively wicked._

_Though her breath came short and standing up was a difficult task under such relentless assault, she leaned toward his ear and breathed, "And I will make you beg." Her own hands were strong with practiced muscles and they drifted across his thighs as nimbly as they would across the wooden keys of her dulcet. _

_"The Queen can do no wrong," said Torin through gritted teeth. "But she would do well to remember that a bard has not the strength of a soldier, and cannot resist such relentless attacks without imminent danger of retaliation."_

_"Then it is a pity my rooms are so very far away," she said with dancing eyes and wandering fingers. He growled and kissed her furiously, his mouth working wonders that rivaled his skill in minstrelsy and teased her with the memory of how skilled he truly was in the joys of elocution._

_"I care nothing for rooms," he said in the lowest of undertones when he finally released her from the sweet agony. "But my Queen has the strangest of compulsions for discretion in such matters. And therefore she leaves me no choice – "_

_With these words, Torin picked her up lightly in his arms and dashed to the eastern corridor, heading for the spiraling tower that overlooked the sea. And Lucy, Balladeer, Knight of the Order of the Lion, and Bearer of the Healing Magic, the Valiant, felt no shame in succumbing to the exhilarating rush of helplessness that was so foreign to her and therefore so exciting. She clung to him as a maiden in one of her more Archenlandian tales might, not quite fainting but most certainly unwilling to stop him. _

_They did not encounter many others in those corridors, though a languid She-Leopard lifted her nose at the passing Humans and padded on untroubled at the smell of the merry Queen who quite often gave chase when the fancy struck. The beasts knew she __**could **__have resisted if she wanted to. She simply chose not to. The belt of her dagger was slung low across her hips, and it was the first thing to go when they crossed the threshold of her rooms. "Let us make a new ballad," she murmured softly in his ear, before showing him just how gifted her tongue truly was…_

* * *

Lucy awoke with a gasp, her fingers twisted in the soft linen sheets of Caspian's bed. She felt much too hot, the air thick and oppressive upon her perspiring skin, and a pervasive ache filled her that she recognized as part longing, part grieving loss, and unmistakably _missing_ what she would never have again. She turned over on her side, arms wrapped around herself, and buried her head in the warm pillow to hide the sound of tears that betrayed her willful strength, though there was no one to hear her weakness. She whispered his name, for the darkness was all that knew it now, and the unmistakable smell of Caspian was all about her. And Lucy wept for what she had lost and what she still had to lose.

* * *

_For the King did not know that beyond the cursed forest lay a bewitched Queen, kept unnaturally still and silent by her long slumber, and she slept on with the unbroken spell sealing her lips and holding her strong hands frozen in time._

* * *

**A/N:** Poor lost Lucy. She needs a hug. Leave one in the comments and I will be sure to pass it along. _  
_


	4. Cherry Wood

**Chapter 4: Cherry Wood**

**Chapter rating: **K+

**A/N:** This chapter is kind of a gift to my Lucian lovers, and it is quite long but there was no way I could break up the fluff. Enjoy it while it lasts ;-)

* * *

_And what was the nature of the Queen's enchantment, you might ask? It was an ancient and unavoidable magic, not evil but no less terrible in its power._

* * *

Morning dawned with shy blankets of pink outside her window. The sun had not yet crept into view, but the calm waters shone faintly as they rippled and stretched around the _Dawn Treader_. Lucy loved this time of day. She stood by the window for a long time, one hand pressed to her lips, watching as the sun appeared over the horizon and banished the last of the dark blue strata of the night. She thought of the many dawns she had watched from the balustrade of her high tower overlooking the Eastern sea, her daily greeting of the sun and farewell to the stars. She remembered the tranquility of those mornings, the quietness and beauty of the sea upon the shores of Cair Paravel. And the memories the night had restored to her, the harmony of watching a blazing sunrise and feeling the communion of her soul with her beloved's, brought as much relief in their vivid joyfulness as they did pain at the knowledge of their finality.

Lucy closed her eyes, allowing herself one final moment of lingering over those precious days. And when she opened them, she turned from the window and went to the washstand and splashed the night's tears from her face. Reflected in the mirror, the girl she saw was pale but resolute and unwavering; not quite like the Queen of old, but not quite like the child she saw last night. It was enough.

She dressed quickly and left the stern cabin, walking up the deck to the bow of the ship where the galley was. Breakfast was very nearly over by then – she usually was briefer in her appreciation of the sunrise – and the few who still milled about the galley tables were the off-duty men and the "landlubbers" – Edmund and Eustace of course. Eustace looked a little green.

"Hullo!" said Edmund. "We were just talking about if we should come check on you. Eustace here – "

"Sod off!" said Eustace. "Nobody asked you."

"I'm alright," Lucy said, with a quick glance at Eustace. At least he was up and about, if moving rather cautiously. "We've done a good deal of celebrating in our time," she said, smiling slightly at Edmund.

His eyes had caught hers. Oh dear. "Those were good days," said Edmund, diplomatically. "Last night recalled many of them for me."

Lucy had to look away. "Yes," she agreed, her eyes on her plate. "They were good days."

"And lots of wine, apparently," said Eustace with a scowl.

"We knew how to handle ours," Edmund retorted.

"What about the time you – " began Eustace.

"Here." Edmund pushed his mug of water up to Eustace's face. "Drink all of that. Proper hydration and all."

Lucy could only shake her head. Tea. She could use a good cup of tea to ground her, but tea (much less milk and sugar) was a luxury aboard ship that they could rarely afford to indulge in. She finished her breakfast feeling lost in her own reflections.

Lucy stood and brought her dishes to the galley, preparing to help Cook with the washing. Someone behind her caught her arm. "Lucy," said Edmund in a low voice. "Come up top with me."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why, what's the matter?"

"Secrets are not your strong point, Lu," said Edmund incisively.

Lucy flushed. Her face always did give her away. She wondered exactly what Edmund had noticed. "Very well. Give me five minutes here."

He nodded, leaving her to wonder for the next few minutes how much of her struggles in the present she had revealed, and the wisdom of telling him about her dreams, given Edmund's own sacrifices as well. Lucy was reluctant to dredge up old memories they had long since buried, but she knew the difference in her demeanor was written clear as day all over her. Edmund would know any half-truths. He would not shy away from plain speech. Better to get it over and done with.

Lucy climbed the rigging with steady hands and wildly beating heart, for she trusted her brother's counsel implicitly and she knew he may have words for her that she did not want to hear. It was irrational, and silly of her, and utterly foreign to be feeling so at the mercy of these conflicting desires, but then her heart had always been a wayward thing.

The impressions of the sun upon the moving sea that usually struck her when she reached the top were today a faint backdrop to her thoughts. She barely even noticed the sensation of flying so far above the sea that she loved so well.

"Alright," said Edmund preemptively when she had joined him in the morning sunlight. "There's no use saying nothing's wrong, so you might as well come out and tell me what's up before I get it out you sooner or later."

"I had a rough night," Lucy said cryptically.

"Yes, well, you didn't exactly set yourself up well, did you?" said Edmund, looking keenly at her. "Singing that gruesome old ballad knowing full well the last time you told it – "

"I know!" she cried, and it was all the worse that she could not remember what _had _happened after that time. "It's no good telling me that _now._ The story is done and told. And I dreamt of him last night. Now you can scold me all you want."

Edmund sighed. "Lu, I'm not going to tell you what to do. I know how you feel. I, well, I've… had dreams of Amordath since we've been back in Narnia." His voice had traces of both agitation and resignation, which was quite and not at all how Lucy felt.

"Oh Ed." She put her hand on his arm, and he didn't exactly reciprocate but at least he left it there.

"Well, tell me about your dream."

Lucy flushed suddenly, the sorrow of the memory mixed with embarrassment. "It was, erm, the night I sang my own ballad. At least the first one was."

"I see." Edmund's eyes were knowing. "It has been a while, since you dreamt of him."

"I have tried not to," she said softly. "It is easier not to."

"Not always better. But easier, yes," Edmund agreed.

"And harder when you remember," Lucy said, looking out upon the bright waters of the morning sea. "That's the worst part of it, the remembering."

"Would you really rather forget?" Edmund's words were unexpectedly gentle. "Isn't the memory worth the loss?"

Lucy was taken aback for a moment. She considered the question for a long moment. "You're right," she said slowly. "I _wouldn't_ want to forget Torin. Nor you Amordath. If I could go back, I would do exactly as I did. If I could go – "

She crumpled. She was only really eleven, after all.

Edmund caught her, reflexively pulling her close and keeping her safe from the long depths below them. "I know," he murmured as he patted her back comfortingly. "I know. If anybody else doesn't, I understand."

Edmund always understood.

She felt like an idiot, sobbing in his arms for the second time in a week. "Sorry for blubbering," she said to his shirt. "Not _trying_ to be a baby about all this…"

"Stop. Don't be sorry," said Edmund gruffly, as he tended to get when he had to do this comforting business. "It's been hardest for you. Trying to forget it at all…well, _having_ to forget it just to get by."

"I didn't want to," she said between sniffles. "It's just…I _had_ to. Otherwise it would have been too much to bear, losing Narnia and Aslan and Cair Paravel and _him_ all at once."

"And who you were," Edmund observed, going back to their conversation from a week ago. "That's a lot to lose in an afternoon."

"I'm not just a little girl anymore," said Lucy sadly. "But I'm not grown-up either. I'm both and neither. And I can remember both. And I only want one." She didn't have to say which one she wanted.

"We have a lifetime to figure it out," said Edmund. "Being here in Narnia just makes you remember more. It'll be easier when we're back in England – it always seems more cloudy there."

"I'm trying not to think about that either," admitted Lucy. "It will come too soon."

"Then don't think about it," he said sensibly. "We're all here on Aslan's time."

* * *

Lucy was very quiet that morning and afternoon, and when she was not watching for land with Edmund upon the top, she did a great deal of pacing on deck.

"Is everything well, Lucy?" The _Treader_ was too small to avoid Caspian in the slightest, and naturally he had noticed her uncharacteristic restlessness. He peered at her with concern. "Not feeling any adverse effects from last night's merriment, are you?"

"Not exactly," she said, smiling with some effort. "Just had some…unexpected dreams, that's all."

"Ah. I have had my fair share of those. Particularly after two bottles of wine," he added with a slight grin. "Strange doings?"

"Very strange," she agreed. "I can't stop thinking about them."

When she did not elaborate, Caspian said kindly, "Not nightmares?"

"No," said Lucy, and hesitated before she could say with a steady voice, "Memories."

Caspian's eyes were thoughtful. "Those dreams are often worse, since you can't tell yourself they are not real."

"I would be more disturbed if they were not real," she said.

"Do you wish to postpone our match then?"

She shook her head. "It will be a welcome distraction."

* * *

After dinner and the washing up, Lucy felt she had reached at least some kind of equilibrium in her head; it felt much like the compartmentalizing they often had used in the wars when injuries and deaths could so easily compromise the necessary strength of mind to carry out the job at hand. This practiced objectivity was the only thing keeping her from going mad.

The fading sunlight cast a reddish glow around the ship as she made her way from the galley to the main deck where Caspian stood at the railing in his habitual place of looking to the east. "Do you think we will find land very soon?" she asked companionably.

"I think it likely, from the size and positioning of the last island," said Caspian. "I will be glad if the next island turns out as well as that did." He looked at her with an ironic quirk of his brow. "We have a good chance if they need any more help from our Queen."

Lucy smiled at the jesting compliment without allowing herself to read anything deeper into his last words. "It was wonderful being needed again," she confessed. "I would welcome another adventure such as that one."

"I will try to arrange that," Caspian said merrily, "for that adventure was the most neatly solved of all our trials. I should have known to let a woman handle things before."

"You are learning, your Majesty," said Lucy in kind.

They watched the sun set completely before winding their way to the stern cabin. As used as she was to hosting Reepicheep there to play against her, or Edmund very frequently in the days before Eustace was un-dragoned, Lucy was aware that this was much, much different. Caspian seemed to make the room suddenly a good bit smaller. So much for good ideas.

She drew the chess set out of the bench locker and laid it upon the small table in the cabin, settling upon the outer bench and tucking her legs under her. Caspian took the seat opposite hers, sitting under the paneled windows of the starboard wall, and set up the pieces, having given her the choice of colors (she chose black). Lucy pensively watched him place King, Queen, Rooks and Knights, Bishops and Pawns with swift assuredness. She was trying to concentrate on forming some kind of gameplan, but it was difficult when so many different thoughts were flashing through her head, mostly ridiculously unhelpful ones along the lines of _I wonder if he would mind if I kissed his hands _and _it's quite unfair for a boy to be that beautiful by lamplight. _Lucy shook her head. _Stop being such a girlish __**fool**_**.**

She managed to both not make a complete ass of herself and hold her own in the game for a while. Lucy had never been an expert tactician on the checkered field (managing real troops was a much different story), and Edmund had long ago given up trying to coax her into playing against him. Caspian was clearly well-practiced in the game, and less prone than Reepicheep to sending one of his men valiantly and heedlessly into danger.

Lucy was forced to assemble all her wits to block his attacks, and though he acquired a larger number of her carved pieces, she defended her King fiercely until at last their Queens came head to head. Caspian, though, placed his Rook so that her King would be checkmated unless she sacrificed her Queen. If Reepicheep always sent his Knights and Bishops gleefully into battle, Lucy always felt a twinge of pity for the Queen when she fell, so powerful yet less valuable than the all-important King. After hers was conquered here, Lucy knew the end was close for her beleaguered army, and her painfully sluggish King was no match for Caspian's combined Queen and Rook.

"Well-played, Caspian," she said upon the ultimate defeat, not very surprised, or dejected, by the loss.

"Bravely fought, Lucy. Is it not the custom in your world to shake hands at this point?"

She glanced shyly at him. "Indeed it is." He extended his hand across the chessboard to her, and she gave him her own. But of course they don't shake hands much in Narnia, so instead of the kind of handshake one would usually expect, quick and decisive, Lucy found a good half of her forearm clasped in the strong grip of greeting soldiers. She felt the callouses of his inner knuckles and palm against her wrist, and thought her hand looked so small wrapped around his own; it was a foreign sight to her, as if those hands belonged to someone else.

Caspian met her gaze with a slight grin. "Like so?" He squeezed and released her hand, and Lucy could breathe again.

"Something like that," she said, not as steadily as she would have liked.

Caspian leaned back against the bulwark behind the bench, stretching his legs out around the small table. "I will confess, Lucy, your story from last night has been on my mind greatly today. Not least of all because that tune always _did_ get stuck in my head!"

She began packing away the chess pieces; in the three years since being in power, Caspian had clearly reinstated their manufacture in the same style as the beautiful ruby-eyed ones she remembered (minus the rubies, naturally). "I'm glad you enjoyed it," said Lucy carefully. "I may have made up a few of the words in the middle. It has been a long time since I practiced all the stanzas regularly."

"I remember, though, by your accounts of the finding of these ballads, you often found it necessary to fill in missing parts with your own words."

"True, and more experienced balladeers than I usually oversaw the revisions in the early years," she said, the memory making her smile. "But after a dozen years of experience in the Narnian lore, I felt confident enough to create my own."

His brows shot up. "Why Lucy, you've been withholding this knowledge from me. Else I would have asked for your creation much sooner."

"It is not worth the hearing," she said, blushing.

He did not look convinced, and shook his head firmly. "Will you not sing me one of your own ballads?" Caspian asked.

Looking down at her hands, remembering the way they had twisted so desolately in her sheets the night before, Lucy felt a warning dread run all along her spine. "Not tonight," she said gently. "Another night, I beg. But I will tell you a story. What would you like to hear?"

Caspian considered for a moment. "A tale from your own world," he decided.

She was not expecting such a request, but it was a much safer one than his first. Which one to choose? There were so many; historical, fictional, wonderful adventures like Robin Hood and Alice in Wonderland; there was always Shakespeare (though she would have to avoid the tragedies). "And in what style? Shall it have a happy ending?"

"Most assuredly," he said, "and perhaps that will result in happier dreams." His tone was light, and Lucy tried not to think about the likelihood of his suggestion coming true. "As for style…" Caspian had a far-away smile as he thought. "Something from your childhood."

Lucy knew she would be dwelling on the implications of this statement later that night. For now, though, she started thinking of what she had loved best and begged for as a little girl, first from her mother, and then from Susan when the war began and Mrs. Pevensie had to find work in the London factories. Her fondest wish then was always fairy stories, the kind with a beautiful princess whom you could imagine yourself as when you fell asleep, or a knight whom you could pretend to be later in the garden. And it was always better when somebody told it _to _ you, rather than reading it yourself.

Her mind drifted back to those happy times, when she was such a very little girl and loved such simple things. Her favorite…

"I would ask for this tale over and over, when I was a small child," said Lucy, a dreamy expression lighting up her face. "I never tired of hearing it. Well – I was always a romantic sort. I hope you don't mind a romance."

Caspian looked amused. "I haven't yet."

"I know it's quite girlish of me," she said apologetically. "But I did love this one. And it does end happily."

"Then I will hear it gladly."

Lucy reached for her cloak – Caspian's cloak – from the nearby locker and draped it over her lap, much as she would have tucked a blanket around her in a comfortable ritual she remembered from those sleepy nights with Susan.

"Once upon a time," she began, the words rolling off her tongue instinctively, so well did she know the litany, "there was a baby born to a king and queen who had long awaited an heir. She was a beautiful baby, and had the great fortune to have thirteen fairy godmothers who were invited to her christening. They each gave her a gift: one blessed her with beauty beyond the lot of mortals, a second gave her great power to rule with a strong hand, another granted her courage to brave the fiercest dragon's den, yet another imparted to her a brilliant voice and musical gifting, and so forth.

"But the king and queen forgot one very wicked fairy who they had not thought alive anymore, and this fairy was very angry indeed at not being invited. And so of course she came to the christening, and cursed the princess to prick her finger on the end of a spindle in her fifteenth year and fall dead upon the spot. Everyone was terrified to hear the dreadful curse, and the only small comfort was the last remaining godmother who stepped forward with her gift: that the princess would not die, but would lie in an enchanted sleep, along with the entire castle, until a prince should come to break the spell with a kiss."

Lucy paused for a few moments for a sip of water (she was not touching wine tonight), and Caspian took the opportunity to ask, "Why must it be a prince? Why not a king? Or an ordinary man, for that matter?"

"That's the way the story goes!" said Lucy, shrugging. "Very well, a king's son. That covers both kings and princes, doesn't it?"

"Technicalities," he said. "Your story is quite elitist. But I have interrupted you; forgive my discourtesy." He grinned at her, looking quite relaxed sprawled upon his perch on the cushioned bench.

She gave him a look of mock severity, and if he had been an ordinary boy in her world, would have stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, to continue: The king of that land was naturally desirous to save his daughter and his people from the enchantment, and outlawed all spindles and spinning wheels throughout the country. You can imagine the outcry from all the farmer's wives," she added as an aside from her experience in good and trade, something that had not occurred to her as a child. "Not to mention all the fine ladies who suddenly could no longer buy gowns in the towns, and had to go beyond the borders of that land for their finery. They were sad for the princess, of course, but her curse made day to day life much more impractical."

"Not to mention – your pardon for the interruption – but would not a witch be able to simply conjure up a spindle by which to kill the princess?"

"Who said anything about witches?" Lucy asked mischievously. "She was just a very bad fairy."

"We would call such a fairy a witch," muttered Caspian, before saying brightly, "But the story! Did all the gifts given to the princess come true?"

"They did, but not as the godmothers had intended. For they had forgotten to make the princess wise, and so the girl grew up as the loveliest and most accomplished young lady you could imagine, but very foolish indeed. When she had reached her fifteenth year, it was a ludicrously easy task for the wicked fairy to lure the silly princess into a deserted tower of the castle where a golden spinning wheel sat. All the fairy had to do was the dangle the promise of granting her every heart's desire, and the princess could not help following, for she had not the discretion to question the wisdom in such a venture. And so she believed the fairy's words that a mere touch of the spindle's end would make her the most powerful queen the world had ever known, and kings and lords from all reaches of the earth would come and lay their hearts at her feet."

Lucy traced her fingers across the edges of the cloak in her lap, pondering the foolishness of the princess to accept such an offer. "And when the princess touched the tip of her finger to the spindle, she fell instantly to the floor in a dead sleep, and the entire castle fell under a deep enchantment so that every creature from the king down to the smallest mouse slumbered where they stood."

"And the witch?"

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps she was a witch, for she made an enchanted forest grow all around the castle, a hedge of impenetrable trees that grew thicker with each passing year until the castle was hidden from sight. News spread throughout the lands of the beautiful princess who lay ensorcelled in the high tower, as one by one each of her fairy godmothers tried to break the spell upon the castle and could not crumble its heavy magic. And as the people remembered the prophecy, of a king's son who might wake the princess with a kiss, many princes and kings and nobles – and indeed, many ordinary men – tried to pass through the treacherous forest to enter the castle, but the thorns held fast together like strong hands, and they seized all who tried to force their way through until they died a cruel death pierced with twisting thorns."

"A gruesome fate," observed Caspian, "for good honest men to suffer. I thought you said this was a happy tale for children."

"I said it has a happy ending," Lucy corrected him. "Many of these fairy tales are quite morbid in their earliest incarnations. You do not want to hear the original version of the story. I made the mistake of looking it up in the Cambridge library one day. The poor princess…and the king was neither good nor honest then." She shook her head and shivered. Yes, that was one tale she would _not_ be telling.

"I will trust the storyteller to set things right," said Caspian with a slight incline of his head towards her.

"I will try to live up to such lofty expectations then. Where were we?"

"The hedge of strung-up princes."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way…I can see your side of things." Lucy reached for another sip of water. "Regardless, the years slipped by and none could break the spell. A hundred years passed until all had forgotten of the princess, or the castle, or the doings of the times of old."

Lucy's voice dropped to a low pitch as her gaze grew wistful, looking past Caspian to the starboard window, through which she could see the faint glimmer of the moonlight upon a glassy expanse of sea.

"And then…and then," she said ever so softly, "at last a king came who was different than the rest. He was as noble as he was wise, and he knew not of the princess who lay in the castle, but only that the forest surrounding it was cursed and none had dared brave it in nearly a century. He heard of the stories of the men who had died there, and so rather than trying to struggle through by force, he simply asked the trees to part before him. None had ever asked them before…but they did."

Lucy thought of the ancient Trees awakened, and of the Dancing Lawn, and the ruins of Cair Paravel. "And through the forest he entered and found the castle, exactly as it was a hundred years before. There were dozens of motionless figures around the courtyard and halls, both animal and human, and he could rouse none from their slumber. The king went to every room of the castle with no success, and at last he came to a winding stair, which he climbed for a great many steps up to a gloomy tower, and opened the door at the top of the stair."

Lucy looked at Caspian at last, unable to help herself, for his eyes were almost dark with intent. "And who should be waiting there," she said to him, "but the sleeping princess where she lay as she had for a hundred years. And the king looked upon the girl in amazement at her beauty and stillness; he could not turn his eyes away from her, though whether that was a result of the enchantment or her own resplendence, I do not know. As if drawn by magic or compulsion, he knelt by her side and bowed his head and at last bestowed a kiss upon the motionless lips of the princess, still warm with breath." She met Caspian's eyes and gave the smallest of smiles. "He was the right one."

Caspian smiled back; he had loved fairy stories too. "And of course the princess awoke."

"To the king's amazement, she did. The girl opened her eyes and sat up, bewildered and slightly afraid of the strange circumstances in which she found herself. The king quickly told her of the long enchantment and his role in breaking it, and she loved him for it and gave him her hand and together they went forth down the winding stair and into the castle.

"There they found that every soul there had awakened and there was great rejoicing in the hall that day. All the creatures that had stood frozen for a century sprang up and danced for joy: the horses in the yard shook themselves and went for a lovely gallop before trotting back to the stable, and the hounds before the now crackling fire uncurled and spun round and round and bayed in delight. And the king and queen of that castle knew no bounds to their happiness, and they gladly consented to the marriage of their daughter to her rescuer. And throughout the great hall a cheer arose and a riot of wild noise across the courtyard, for their princess yet lived and the curse had been broken, and they all would live in peace and safety for the rest of their lives." She leaned back upon the completion of her tale, sighing a bit with the sweetness of its ending.

"And so it did end happily," Caspian said, looking arch.

"Of course it did. It's a fairy tale." Lucy stopped herself, remembering the many tragic origins of the fairy tales she had loved so well that had emerged with further study as a much older reader. "Well, at least it's a child's fairy tale. And I was very young when I heard it first," she said rather apologetically, suddenly feeling foolish at the thought of the former exalted Queen of Narnia telling the current King of Narnia a children's bedtime story. _A bit too late for that, isn't it now?_

"I too remember the stories of my childhood vividly," said Caspian sympathetically. "My Nurse would often tell me of Old Narnians, animals that would talk as plainly as humans, and of the revels the Fauns and Naiads and Dryads would have in the woods. I used to try to make the dumb animals in the castle talk to me," he said with a wry grin. "Somehow the dogs and cats never wanted to cooperate."

Lucy smiled at the thought of the boyish Caspian trying to coax an ordinary cat into conversation.

Caspian was looking at her very fixedly. "But most of all, she would tell me about the four Kings and Queens of old, the ones Aslan had called into this world from another, and who restored Narnia to her former glory through their great exploits and rulings." He gave a short, rueful laugh. "I never thought I would one day be enthroned by those same Kings and Queens. Nor," he said, bowing his head to her, "that I would sail the Eastern Seas with the Valiant Queen and exchange stories with her."

Lucy looked down, disconcerted by his glorification of her, but feeling the warmth of his praise all the same. "If it is strange for you, it is wholly bewildering to me," she said, prompted to transparency by Caspian's confidences. "I have grown up and down so many times, I feel like Alice in Wonderland."

"Who?" Caspian looked puzzled.

She waved her hand. "I will tell you that tale sometime. It's – well, a girl who enters another world and is constantly changing." Lucy allowed herself a wistful glance at Caspian; he was so very thoughtful. Surely he would understand. She confessed in a low voice, "I am not precisely sure if I am a Queen or a schoolgirl anymore."

"Does it matter?" said Caspian. He reached across the table, holding out his hand to her. "You are Lucy. That does not change. You will always belong to Narnia, whether you are here or in your own world."

Lucy was in grave danger of tears that threatened to fill her eyes. She bit her lip hard to prevent the telltale drops from swelling up. For a long moment, she stared at his extended hand. And for the second time that night, she gave him her hand, and he took it in his own and this time, rather than a soldier's clasp, it was the gentle devotion a lord might give his lady. His fingers curled around the back of her hand, and her thumb brushed the pulse of his wrist. This was not wise, oh no, but it was all that she might hope for this time, and so she did not stop Caspian as he lifted her hand ever so tenderly to his lips. Nor could she help herself from meeting his gaze openly; she was allowed that much, wasn't she? And his eyes were the color of the sea before dawn. Aslan help her.

And that was how the Queen Lucy, who had had countless Princes and Lords begging for her hand, was completely undone by the simple kiss of her hand by one King of Narnia.

* * *

Somehow she managed to plead tiredness and bid Caspian a stammering goodnight without too much embarrassment, even if it lacked a certain grace as befit an exalted Head of State. He smiled and thanked her for the evening's entertainment, and as she watched him leave the cabin and she was left alone in the suddenly much larger space, Lucy exhaled a breath she did not even realize she was holding.

Everything was different, she noted with painful clarity while she readied herself for bed that evening. It was so much harder to pretend now, living in his room, wearing his very clothes, and now, still feeling the touch of his lips upon her skin, that she felt nothing for the young King who had so easily laid claim to her hand. He had not even asked for it, she thought wistfully, but she still gave it.

And Lucy leaned her head against the bedframe and once again inhaled the smell of the cherry wood. She wondered if it was somehow stronger that night. The wildness of the fragrance seemed to creep into her dreams, and they were less clear but more dazzlingly alive with sound and smells and tastes…and the memories did not make Lucy weep this time.

* * *

_The night was not dark but blazing with a grand bonfire and hundreds of brilliant points of lights around them…_

_A whirl of dancing Dryads and Nymphs and Naiads and Maenads, each grabbing her hands as they passed her, and spinning her until she laughed so hard her side ached…_

_Wild piercing music that was not the careful practiced lines of the Great Hall, but the very heart and soul of Narnia, like the song of the Merfolk…_

_Wine that was so rich and cool and fragrant, she could only take a sip at a time, the gilded flagon heavy in her hands, before he took it from her and drank deeply…_

_Dancing, dancing that never ended, nor the music that throbbed and pulsed through them all like one single heartbeat, and she would dance with anyone, and they all did…_

_So many loving hands and paws and branches wrapped around her, their laughing Queen, a part of them like the air and the water and the sky and the earth…_

_Her beloved sea, crashing upon the shore in the distance, and the painfully sweet songs of the Sea People rising from its depths and drifting through the forest and mingling with their music…_

_A crown of cherry blossoms placed upon her head, and upon his, the perfume covering them like the Eastern breeze, and the Dryad kissing her softly and speaking over her with rustling breaths…_

_The Earth they touched together…the Water that flowed over their joined hands…the Air that swirled around them in a cloud of spiraling winds…the beloved Stars that danced above them in the sky, so blindingly bright and beautiful she could hardly bear to look at them…_

_Words…she could not hear them, but she felt them with every bit of her body and soul and mind, and she was consumed in the inflagration of its fullness and deepness… _

_And the oneness, for who could separate them now?_

* * *

For the next few mornings, Lucy awoke with a smile on her lips.

* * *

_The Queen could not move or speak, but she could dream, and she dreamt of the one who would one day come to break the spell upon her._

* * *

**...**

**...**

**A/N:** Yes?


	5. Gray Visions

**Ch 5: Gray Visions**

**Chapter rating:** This is quite sad and dark, so I will be cautious and go with T.

**A/N: **The sea shanties mentioned in this chapter are all based on real historical working songs (because I just love them in general and haven't gotten around to writing all my own Narnian music yet!). They're fun to Youtube if you're bored of an afternoon. Names also tend to be based on real words or meanings, just as Lewis's often were.

* * *

_Many kings' son did try to break through the enchanted forest around that castle, but they relied on brute strength to slash at the thick web of branches, and so the magic thorns would twist and tighten and pierce them so they could not escape._

* * *

The breeze was mild and gentle on the morning of the thirteenth day, the sun clear upon the greenish-blue waters, and Lucy stood at the bow looking far in the distance to the East in case she could catch another glimpse of the pod of whales that were spouting earlier near dawn. The morning sun was always the warmest and friendliest on her skin, before it grew hot and unflinching toward the noon, when Lucy would have to put on a hat to shield her cheeks from being scorched. Today she welcomed its stark rays on her skin, the untroubled brightness of its open light. She wished only to feel the very things that were there at that moment, but it was almost impossible not to close her eyes and still see the scenes playing out in her mind, reliving the visions of last night…

––_  
_

_She was standing upon her marble balcony, watching the tide come in just before dawn. The Eastern Sea was quiet but shifting, and flickering with the last of the starlight and the faint beginnings of light below the horizon. Her skin was cool with the soft kisses of the wind from the East._

_"Here, dear heart." He came behind her and draped a gossamer mantle over her shoulders. "You're shivering."_

_"I do not mind," she said, gazing out at the display of beauty before her that never lost its hold over her. "The breeze is a kindly one. Look, the Leopard bids us farewell in the North."_

_She felt his arms encircle her and the warmth of his body at her back. "Is it not a wonder that Ashtiel and Ranior of the Leopard danced with us so lately?"_

_"I never dreamed of such pleasure," she murmured happily. "These two days, they have been a dream of a dream."_

_He bent his head over her hair. "You still smell like cherry blossoms."_

_"Kirsikke blessed us so many times, I do not think I will ever stop smelling like her."_

_"She loves you," said Torin thoughtfully._

_"She and I have danced together since the night we awakened her and the others of the Great Wood."_

_"We?"_

_She smiled at the thought. "Aslan and I." It was a memory she had treasured in her heart for ten years and more, and someday she would tell him the tale. _

_He sighed. "Would that all your subjects gave us such sanction as she did."_

_She was sobered by the reminder of the less pleasant parts of the past two days. "I am sorry, Torin. More sorry than I can say. I cannot override the counsel of so many advisors; not at the moment, and not when Peter and the others agree with them." These last words were tinged with disappointment._

_"I would not think that of them."_

_"If we were at peace, there would be no difficulty," she said sadly. "But…your father…"_

_"Too well I know. The bastard son of a Calormene dog is no fit Consort for the Queen," said Torin bitterly._

_She turned to face him, the mantle slipping down her shoulders. "I do not blame you for anyone else's doings," she said fiercely. "You are your own agent, and you are __**Narnian**__, no matter your birth." _

_"Old Narnia welcomed me," he said, a strange undertone to his voice. "Those who slept through the Winter…or were a refugee as I and my mother were."_

_She touched his face. "Do not doubt that you belong to us, beloved," she vowed. "You and I have been joined by and to Narnia. And neither Man nor Beast can alter that."_

_He gazed at her for a long moment. "Your faith never falters, Lucy," he said at last. "You have made me belong, after I was lost for so long…"_

_She pulled him into her arms. "That is what I do," she said simply. _

___–__–_  


"Land ho!" shouted Edmund from the fighting top, breaking the reflective silence of her thoughts. Startled, she blinked and looked around, and realized the direction everybody was looking.

Dragged forcibly back into the present, Lucy rushed to the port side of the ship, but could make out nothing from her vantage point, nor could the other sailors who had hurried to see the land sighting. She turned and scrambled up the rigging quick as a flash, joining Edmund on the platform where he was staring intensely at the horizon through the spyglass.

"Where is it?" she asked breathlessly.

"To the northeast. Look, that gray shape. It's not clouds." He pointed and Lucy, putting her hand over her eyes and narrowing them, thought she could make out something. He handed her the spyglass. She peered through it in the direction he pointed, and indeed there was a shadowy outline of a mass that might be a mountain very low on the horizon. She could not see much more than that yet.

Down below them Drinian was on the poop deck, gesturing to Rhince who was also scouting the approaching land by spyglass. Others were beginning to join them on the upper deck: Reepicheep, Eustace, Caspian.

Lucy looked once more in the direction of the land; it was still indistinct, but now it looked like the dark mountain was rising out of the sea and absorbing the sunlight around it. There was something – not right about it, the more she looked at the strange formation.

"I don't like it," she said to Edmund, giving him back the spyglass hastily. Suddenly the morning sun did not feel as friendly as before, nor the breeze as steady upon the top.

Below, Drinian was shouting orders to man the oars and make for the northeast horizon.

"Why not?" asked Edmund.

"It's sucking all the light out of the sky around it," said Lucy with a slight shiver. "It's…not a normal mountain."

He gazed into the east for a long while before saying anything. Finally, he admitted, "That's not a comfortable thought, Lu."

She glanced about them, looking to the great purple mainsail for the telltale flutter of the wind's direction. It was abnormally still. "The wind will not blow us there," she said slowly. "If we reach that land, we go to it by choice."

Edmund looked grave. "Do you want to say something to Drinian?"

It was tempting. Lucy had come to always believe her instincts when a feeling like this was settling in the pit of her stomach. But… "It isn't our choice," she said with some effort. "It is Caspian's."

Something flashed in Edmund's eyes before his brows drew together and his face was set with determination. "Of course. But shouldn't he know the facts of the matter first?"

"What facts?" said Lucy, casting another glance at the shadowed sea before them. She felt a pervading dread begin to coil under her chest. "I don't like the looks of that land. I am _not_ going to say anything of the kind to the others. Do you think I'm afraid of a strange shadow?"

"I don't think you're afraid of anything," Edmund said, the corners of his mouth raised slightly. "But you're usually right about these sorts of things."

"I hope I am not this time," she said with a sigh.

They could see the rows of oars being extended into the waters far beneath them, and as the line of portside rowers began to pull together, the _Dawn Treader_ slowly started to turn to the northeast and little by little was set off on its new course.

The stillness as they sailed was disturbing. It had not been this calm since after the storm…but then at least there was the reversal of weather to explain the strange lack of a breeze. Lucy felt the absence of her beloved westerly winds more keenly upon the fighting top. She shook her head. "I will go down," she told Edmund. "I can't stand it up here any longer. It's too still."

Edmund nodded. "I'll be on the lookout for anything else," he said, and she knew what he meant.

She cast a single final glance to the East. The Darkness – for it was no mere darkness – seemed to be growing, even though it was no closer than before. Some might call it a mist, but Lucy had not sensed such danger before in inclement conditions. No, this was something much different, something with malice and foulness to it, though if you asked her to explain why, she probably could not have told you precisely. Perhaps it was the unnatural way it drained the sunlight around it; the inexplicable dying of the breeze without warning or cause; the complete contrariness to how a normal untainted land would behave as you approached it. The dread in her stomach uncoiled and wrapped around the base of her spine. She did not want to look at the Darkness anymore.

Lucy swung down onto the web of ropes and descended the lengths to the deck deep in dismayed reflection. But as her feet touched the floorboards, she heard Reepicheep boldly declaring to Eustace, "At last! We come to another joust with the unknown! This perchance shall be our greatest adventure yet." It was not the first time the Mouse's courage had given the challenge to her own, and made Lucy rise to meet that challenge head-on.

Head held high, she pulled her shoulders back, standing as befit a Queen. Then she made her way to the boatswain, to see where she might best be needed. Lucy spent the next several hours running the instructions between the tiller and oarsmen below, ensuring that the crew was well refreshed for their task and noting when a man looked in need of a replacement.

Though they kept up a continuous row, the _Treader_ was no closer that afternoon to the far-off sighting of land than she had been that morning. Lucy would often catch snatches of conversation as she went above deck – how many leagues away did Drinian think they were now? Was there chance of rain as they approached, it certainly looked like inclement weather up ahead, didn't it? And she thought it odd that Drinian could not say for certain how far the land was, nor whether they would encounter a fog or storm as they reached it. She tried not to look in the direction of the East.

* * *

During that long afternoon and evening of rowing, the rowers were rotated several times, and everybody but Reepicheep and Lucy had a turn at the oars (and they both cursed the wretched shortness of their legs that made the task an impossibility). Lucy much preferred to be below deck or running brief errands above, that she need not avoid the approaching Darkness in the distance that she knew was no mere storm or land. Even though she did not look at it, she could feel its malevolent power pulling them ever closer to it with dreadful slowness, like getting sucked into an eddy little by little for hours on end. Once or twice she swore she heard it whisper her name, and she ran harder so that the panting of her breath would cover the snaking sound of the Darkness.

As the painfully still, warm evening closed in about them, the oarsmen fell upon the traditional sea shanties to keep their spirits up and their rhythm constant. Here at least she could find some comfort and distraction from her growing dread. The beat of the truncheon and the hypnotic repetitions of the old choruses drowned out the cold echoes of whatever might be out there waiting for them. Her voice might not be of minstrel quality any longer but it was strong enough to pick up the choruses of _Stormalong_ and _Haul Away Boys _and others that she knew the tunes of and quickly learned the verses to.

For the first several hours of the night, the hold rang with the merry boisterous choruses and responses:

Old Stormy's gone that good old man

_**To me Way! Hay! Ye Stormalong**_

Oh, poor old Stormy's dead and gone

**_To me aye, aye, aye, aye Master Stormalong_**

And when she was not at the lectern's beat, Lucy was gladly occupied with keeping her singing crew well-hydrated ___–_ Edmund would most likely approve ___–_ and with buoying up the shortest member there.

"Here," she whispered between songs to Eustace, sliding next to him on the bench and handing him a small wineskin. "You look like you could use most of that."

"Thanks," said Eustace windedly, letting go of his oar and drinking eagerly, though he still made strange faces at the first swallow of the spiced wine as usual. His feet barely touched the floor, and he had to press them against the sides of the bench in front of him to get enough leverage to pull.

"Let me try just for a few minutes while you catch your breath," Lucy urged.

"No thank you!" said Eustace. "I'm not in the mood for Reepicheep's sword at my neck when you inevitably slide off the bench with one good pull and crash on the floor."

"It was only that one time," she muttered.

"Get back to singing," he said, and gave her back the half-empty wineskin. "That's the best way to keep us going."

When they had exhausted the supply of the more recent chants, Lucy dredged up the old call-and-response tunes from their fleets centuries earlier and taught the simple rousing refrains to her favorites: _Blow Ye Winds_, and _A Hundred Years Ago_, and the best one of course, _The Harp Without a Crown:_

Hurrah! Hurrah!

For the girls of Glasswater Town

Hurrah for the bonny green flag

And the harp without the crown

She smiled as she sang the rowdy verses to this one, though the memories it recalled made her chest ache a bit and mixed with the suppressed coil of dismay behind her stomach. The harp without the crown, Torin had said, was of course referring to her, since she disliked wearing her coronet when she sang or indeed on any but the most formal occasions of state. She would retort that she was quite appalling on the kinnor and _why_ would they bother to write an entire line about her in the refrain. Arguments would ensue, and then no arguments whatsoever, and…

Lucy shook herself, as if to shake off the distracting recollections, and sang on.

As the night grew deep and the songs gave way to a weary determined rhythm of beats and strokes, Lucy found her thoughts wandering in a strange way that tends to happen when one is thoroughly exhausted. Occasionally she would catch herself staring at nothing, trying to listen to the hum of distant voices she heard beyond the creak of oars and clang of truncheon. She did not think she was sleeping, but the glimpses she would catch between blinks were like bits of a dream. She allowed her eyes to close, even as her hands continued to move in time.

At first there were only shadows and echoes behind her eyes, and then a sweet beguiling melody rose through her mind that turned to a mournful wail, and she was plunged into a room filled with beautiful tapestries and dozens of brilliant manuscripts…

Voices swam into focus…yet the speakers were indistinct blurs of motion in the picture…

___–__–_  


_"Will you finish the Endelient ballad before we set sail?"_

_"I could not leave happy otherwise. It is very nearly ready. We will sing it at the feast on the eve of our departure."_

_"I still believe I would have been an excellent choice for the kinnor accompaniment… not to mention the part of Imradorn."_

_"I told you, it is to be a surprise!"_

_"You and your surprises."_

_"I hope you will be pleased with it. It is so – well, I have come to love this Queen through her story. I wish she might have lived to tell her children the tale."_

_"But then there would have been no tale to tell now."_

_"Perhaps not. But perhaps she might have found a way to save both of them and live a long and happy life as Queen."_

_"Ever the idealist, Lucy. It would be fortunate if life always worked like that. But…"_

_"What is it?"_

_"Nevermind. I was simply thinking of the role of fate in Endelient's tale. Was she not destined to put her faith in the faithless man who was her undoing?"_

_"Nay, I do not believe that. Endelient made her choice by her own hand. As do we all."_

––

Lucy jolted to consciousness at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She could still hear the faint echoes of the ballad's melody ringing in her ears.

Blinking furiously, she saw Caspian standing before her where she sat at the hortatory lectern.

"I thought you asleep hours ago," he said in a low voice.

"I was needed," she said simply, between beats.

"It will be dawn in but a few hours," Caspian said, looking at her with a concerned expression. "We are on the third shift of the crew; the others are asleep. I have already taken some rest. Will you not as well?"

She met his eyes, which were dark in the low light of the hanging lanterns. "Was your sleep untroubled?" she asked after a few moments' pause.

"I…do not remember," he answered. "I feel as though I dreamt, but I awoke so strangely…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.

"I don't want to dream tonight," Lucy said with the frankness of exhaustion letting her speak openly. Her eyelids fluttered rebelliously at the acknowledgement of the late hour.

Caspian looked very thoughtful as he spoke. "I will ask the Lion to watch over your sleep," he said gently. He moved to her side and, leaning down, placed his hand over hers on the truncheon. "By your grace," he requested, half-apologetically.

She could feel the broken callouses of his palm over her knuckles where he was unaccustomed to long hours at the oar. Their clasped hands moved in unison on the beat.

Lucy bit her lip. She nodded and slipped her hand from the wooden handle, and he did not miss a count while she slid from the bench and stood. As she moved to pass him in the narrow space, Caspian bent his head over her ear for a moment. "May Aslan keep you in his paws this night," he murmured. She closed her eyes for a split second, willing herself not to let tears spring behind them. He shifted to take her place upon the bench, and Lucy forced herself to breathe and nod and smile. She could not trust her voice to thank him, but Caspian seemed to understand. "Go," he said kindly, settling into the rhythm he had taken up from her. She fled.

The air of the main deck was still, so still. Lucy tried to inhale deeply, and there was nothing to inhale. No wind, no breeze at all. The stars were dull, and the moon was new that evening and cast no light. And though she could not see beyond the lighted bows of the ship, she felt the heavy dread of the shadowed visions in the expanse that waited for them. She knew it was waiting for _her. _It shuddered her name again. _Oh Aslan, give me courage to face this night._

She tumbled into her bed for a few short hours. And the dreams came with no mercy, and Caspian's prayers were not answered.

___–____–_

_Darkness surrounded them, the pale light of the moon and stars the only illumination of the ghastly scene. She heard whispers overhead, and the crackle of leaves breaking the terrible silence._

_Her tears were burning her cheeks, hot and cruel and unrelenting, like the silent fury that seized her side when she tried to breathe._

_She had not cried before then – not when he was captured, nor when her swift vessel had overtaken the foul Calormene slaving galley and she and her forces had slain their foul Tarkhaans – pirates, the Tisroc claimed – with graceless furious slashes and claws. They had not thought the young Queen capable of such swift and retributive action, or they would not have relied on such a tactic to ensnare her. _

_She had not cried when he confessed to the council the dreadful extractions under torture that he had been weak enough to give; secrets of state, and locales, and the few plans he had been privy to._

_She had not cried at his descriptions of the interrogations, nor at the open hostility of the council to the man they had not deemed fit as royal Consort; not even – not even – at their terrible unequivocal decision of judgment against him: that he was – he was…she could not say it, yet she had not cried._

_But she wept openly now._

_Tears were no weakness when one was gravely wounded._

_She could not breathe – she could not think – the only thing that was left to her was feeling and if she could wish that away she would. She heard his words not with her ears but taking them in her ribs like a knife. And tears came without stopping._

_The dark canopy of the Trees across the river, the only place he would consent to meet, watched their struggle and whispered that the merry Queen wept in their midst with the traitor, her lover. _

_She did not want their rustling sympathies._

_Words floated in and out of her consciousness…wrong hateful words…_

_"…far from here…never…evil…"_

_And finally, her own voice, speaking her decision, for there could be none other._

_And his – the beloved voice she knew so well – giving her the denial. "I will not let you do this."_

_And suddenly, the gates of her lips opened at last. "Will not let? Will not let? How DARE you! You – you who I love more than my own life…"_

_"And I you. I do not do this for me, nor for you."_

_"Do you think so little of our sacred bond? Of the Words we spoke? How can you speak of letting? How can you __**think**__ of such a thing…it is…unbearable….No!"_

_Hands withdrawn from hers. A look in his eyes she would never forget. "It is unbearable to unite your goodness any longer with my shame. I have failed you. I have failed Narnia. And above all, I have failed the Great Lion." _

_"I will never believe it. I __**will not**__ give you up so easily."_

_"You do not know all that I have done. __**They**__ know the truth." The Trees swayed around them, nodding. "I do this for Narnia, Lucy. I release you from our Words. I no longer hold you to them. I relinquish our bond in the presence of these witnesses, and take my final leave of you."_

_His knife had reached her heart, and Lucy could not comprehend the magnitude of the terrible Words he uttered. The Words of Abjuration, unbreakable spoken in the place and company who had heard their once so beautiful Words of Harmony. She had read them before, and turned away from their cruelty; and she knew now why he had led her to this place._

_"This is a far greater evil than any you may have done," she whispered._

_"May Aslan forgive me for what I have done," he said raggedly, turning his face away. He stumbled back, back into the ring of Trees, who reached for him with snapping twigs and creaking branches, and she cried out as he slipped through the knotting mass and ran from their reaching grasp, disappearing into the darkness._

_Her vision was dangerously fading, and sensation even began to mercifully dwindle and die. Before falling under the blessed numbness, she thought she saw the pale face of Kirsikke bending over her murmuring low incantations, and she smelled cherry blossoms as she was enfolded in dark boughs of fragrant blooms. The last thing she heard as she passed into darkness was the gentle voice of the Dryad…_

_"Lethe…" _

_It was not a month later that Lucy hunted the White Stag and was cast out of Narnia._

___–____–_

It was dawn at last, but Lucy had been awake for hours, lying on her side with fingers curled tightly against her breast. She closed her eyes, but there was neither the relief of tears nor the escape of sleep to shelter her from the full knowledge of her memories. All that she had lost, all that she had endured with silent valiance… And Aslan had let it all happen to her. That was the worst memory of all.

And outside her window, she saw the Darkness beyond, and knew that the battle had not ended with the night.

* * *

_Each of the princes who tried to force their way through to the castle were caught in the thorns of that accursed forest, and their bodies hung there for years as warnings._

* * *

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**A/N: **It has to get worse before it gets better. The dreams and memories are intended to be the way they work in real life - not particularly linear or clear. But all will be revealed in time (or at least, most). I live for reviews! If you're craving more Lucian, please let me know!


	6. Dark Whisper

**Chapter 6: Dark Whisper**

**Chapter rating:** K+, still somewhat dark though (in case the chapter title didn't give it away)

**A/N: **Oh dear. I set out to write a great Lucian-filled chapter and it ended up being a great Lucy and Edmund moment. Well, that's good too in my book.

* * *

_In the century after the long enchantment, the noble King considered whether or not to venture into the dark forest whose cruelties were legendary and fatalities were many…_

* * *

It was a dull, gray sunlight that morning, a pale reflection of its usual warmth. And the sunrise was a twisted mockery of its usual beauty as the Darkness tugged at its rays and leeched the growing light on the horizon.

She must go out there. She _must_. It would call for her whether she hid from it or not. It did not care that she could scream from the weight of her burdens. It would find her, and it would take her. And she may fall, but she would not give in willingly.

The oppressive stillness hit her in the face the moment Lucy stepped from the stern cabin. "A flat calm," the sailors called it, but that was not it at all. Calm was lying all alone on the shores of Cair Paravel and looking up at the stars and hearing the soft lullaby of the waves upon the beach. Calm was not a hideous windless, waveless sea with a whispering Darkness in front of you.

It was so much bigger than before, so much harder to block out. The great dark outline loomed ahead, unavoidable on the landscape, and eating up the sun with every growing hour of light. And still they rowed on straight toward it.

Lucy made herself walk unfalteringly the length of the ship to the forecastle and climb the narrow steps to the deck above. Most of the crew who were still aboveboard stood there, including Edmund and Caspian, as they watched the approach of the strange land.

_Are they all blind?_ She could not believe the snatches of conversation she heard – "we're a good bit away from land still!" and "looks like misty weather ahead…hope no chance of a storm." Did none of them hear the sinister wordless whispers? Or feel this terrible coil of dread that was even now rearing up again along her spine?

Most around her on the forecastle did not seem visibly disturbed, though they all were intensely interested in the sight before them. Predictably, Drizzlegrim the Marsh-Wiggle was dour about the prospects. "Very likely we'll crash the ship on the shores in a mist like this," he was saying dolefully as she passed. "It's a wonder we haven't wrecked or grounded before now. But don't despair. Like as not we'll find another sea serpent to swallow us up before that happens. Or something even more dreadful in the mist, I shouldn't wonder…"

Lucy came to stand beside Edmund along the rail of the bow.

"Morning, Lu," he said. "Drinian says we should reach landfall by – good God, Lucy." He stared at her face, having turned to look directly at her. "You're as pale as a ghost. What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Last night was – terrible," Lucy murmured. "I could feel the Darkness even in my dreams. And it brought back _everything."_

Edmund was visibly concerned. "Was it – "

"Yes," she said in a very low voice. "I had forgotten how it happened. And how much it _hurts."_ In some ways it would be a relief to be able to cry, but this dreadful stillness was paralyzing her, freezing even tears and stopping them up inside her till she felt like bursting.

"Oh Lu." Edmund's eyes were dark with compassion. She slipped her hand into his. "I'm so sorry," he said softly to her. "I know it doesn't make it better, but I wish I could relieve the sorrow of the memory somehow." Lucy felt a dull ache behind her eyes.

And then she was compelled to arrange her expression in something resembling composure as Caspian appeared on the other side of her. "Hello Lucy," he greeted her. "How do you fare this morning?"

She reached for words that would not betray her anguish. "I'm – I mean, I'll be alright," said Lucy; but her face must not have matched her words, because Caspian glanced between her and Edmund for a moment.

"The mist up ahead has got us all a little jumpy today," said Edmund. Lucy squeezed his hand gratefully. "Eustace and I were just discussing we had some funny dreams last night. There's…something peculiar about the air this morning. Seems rather stale, don't you think? It could well be the lack of wind overnight."

"Yes, we have not been able to sort out just what's going on around the mountain there," said Caspian. "It may be all these strange conditions will be explained by this mist or storm. But – that doesn't explain the dreams."

"Then we are not the only ones?" said Edmund.

"I don't think so," said Caspian seriously. "The men have been more on edge of late as well – although a full day and night of rowing can have that effect. Strange, isn't it, that we seem a good ways off yet."

"We are very near to it," Lucy said, speaking at last. Her fingers were trembling in Edmund's. "Look."

The Darkness was suddenly before them like a great gaping cavern, its breadth wrapping around the visible horizon at the bows. The unexpectedness of its immediacy and profound emptiness was startling. Inside the expanse was utter blackness, as if they had come to the edge of moonless and starless night. Around its edges lingered pale tinges of light, like the promise of twilight. The prow of the _Dawn Treader_ appeared mere strokes away from entering its domain. It felt like teetering on the verge of a giant inescapable abyss and knowing there is no hand to grab you and pull you away from certain doom.

Lucy shuddered.

"Aslan's Mane," breathed Caspian. "What devilry is this?" He turned and strode to the edge of the forecastle. _"Derth!"_ he shouted with all his might to the boatswain at the tiller. "Hold back! Hold back!"

At his words, everyone above deck pressed as far forward as they could to see what lay ahead, and then immediately wished they had not. At last it was clear to them all that the Darkness before them was a path none would choose to tread willingly.

"Heave to!" bawled Drinian, hastening to the main deck to call the orders. "Cease row! Turn hard starboard…"

Lucy turned her head to gaze behind her at the clear horizons, wishing to remind herself what unperverted sunlight looked like, and wanting very much not to look at the terrible Darkness anymore. But no matter where she gazed, the sunlight seemed diminished and did nothing to stop the unmistakable hiss that was leaking out of the abyss to the East: _Luuuuuuuccccccyyyyy…_

She put her hands to her ears, but the sound snaked into her mind regardless.

Around them on the forecastle, their little group had drawn together: Edmund on her right, Eustace and Reepicheep on her left, and Caspian pacing back and forth between the bow and the supervision of the main deck's activity.

"You were right, Lucy," said Edmund. "This is something evil, something we should not rush to meet."

"Should we not?" Reepicheep challenged. "What need we fear evil, with Aslan at our back and the red and green flying above us? Those are not warrior's words, your Majesty."

"Not every evil can be fought with a sword, Reep," said Lucy, very quietly.

"Then who is more suited to face such a fearsome foe than our company?" the Mouse responded. "Aslan sends your Majesties to us to come to our aid in times of great need. You have defeated evils none of us have ever dreamt. This may be your hour of glory!"

"Or it may be a complete rout," muttered Edmund.

"Forsooth, sire!"

"He's right, you know," Eustace interjected. "This might not be something you can actually win, or conquer, or whatever the case may be. But survival at least would be good."

"Honor would be better," said Reepicheep.

The Dawn Treader creaked as she turned slightly to the right and slowed to a grinding halt as the anchor did its work. The nose of the dragon prow stopped just as it was about to disappear into the Darkness. The terrible gloom was right in front of them now. Lucy stared hard into it, trying to find the faintest speck of light. It gazed back at her, cold and sneering.

Caspian's voice rose from the silence. "Do we go into this?" For a moment, a glimmer of hope surfaced in Lucy's heart. He was taking counsel! He would perhaps listen to the suggestions of those who knew what dangers they would be chancing by sailing into this evil place.

She could hear Drizzlegrim muttering on the port side, "No good wind, no good wind," and Sharptongue's croaking caws from the masthead, "Easily in but not easily out!" Lucy felt suddenly cold in the gray sunshine.

Drinian's answering recommendation against the forward path, and the fervent affirmations of Rhince and Derth, allowed her hope of reprieve from the path ahead. "The Captain's right!" cried the sailors.

And Edmund, bless him, glanced at Lucy. She returned his gaze with eyes that spoke for her.

"I almost think he is," said Edmund slowly, turning to look to Caspian.

Lucy did the same. She longed to voice her true thoughts, to tell him how the Darkness whispered to her, had hounded her steps for a full day and night. She wanted to urge him with impassioned pleas to not venture into the sinister void, when it so clearly was a realm of evil. And Caspian, standing tall and kingly on the forecastle, waited for her counsel.

Lucy opened her mouth. He looked consideringly at her, as he had done when she had spoken of the perilous battles she had fought as Queen of Narnia. He trusted her advice. But Aslan had called her the Valiant. A Lioness of his order. Even if Aslan did not hear her prayers now, she was still his Lucy, was she not?

Before she could speak, Reepicheep's bold words filled the gaps. "And why not go forth? Will somebody explain to me why not?" _Because it is not wise, Reepicheep_. _Because the things I hear in that Darkness are things that should be left alone._ Lucy knew this would sound like cowardice to one so brave and cavalier as the Mouse, but she had seen Dark Magic before; she knew what it felt like; and she was brave enough to know when her courage was not enough to overcome it by will alone. All these things and more she wished to say. But Reepicheep continued on.

"If I were addressing peasants or slaves, I might suppose that this suggestion proceeded from cowardice. But I hope it will never be told in Narnia that a company of noble and royal persons in the flower of their age turned tail because they were afraid of the dark."

This was the most ridiculous thing Lucy had ever heard. Reepicheep knew she and Edmund were no mere babes to be frightened on a whim. As Queen and King they would not have simply _turned tail_ at the threat of great evil, but summoned all the wisest and most skilled in the Arts of Magic among their people – the Centaurs and Stars, the Dwarvish Mages and River Gods and most ancient Dryads – to counter the foul presence and if possible dispel it. There was neither the time nor the proper agents to face this terrible Darkness aboard the _Dawn Treader._

A thread of gall crept into the throbbing dread that lurked in her stomach. She shook her head, and Caspian cast her a quick searching glance. She did not want to speak out of anger.

"But what manner of use would it be plowing through that blackness?" asked Drinian. Lucy silently blessed his prudence.

"Use?" replied Reepicheep. "Use, Captain? If by use you mean filling our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all. So far as I know we did not set sail to look for things useful but to seek honor and adventure. And here is as great an adventure as ever I heard of, and here, if we turn back, no little impeachment of all our honors."

Honor? Was the only honor in pursuing adventure headlong with valor? Lucy's mind flashed to memories of times when mere valor was useless: the night raid of Jadis's stronghold of Hags and Boggles casting fearful visions of terror around them – she was even younger then than now – or their survey of the Temple of Azaroth, lord of Darkness and Death, where it was said many had slain themselves for the despair that overwhelmed them. Honor then was not drawn swords but whispered pleas for Aslan's Breath to sustain them. It always had.

Lucy choked back a sob.

Caspian stood uncertainly, scanning their company. He too appeared piqued by the Mouse's implications. "Oh, _bother_ you, Reepicheep," he spoke at length. "I almost wish we'd left you at home. All right! I suppose we shall have to go on."

Lucy quickly glanced at him, consternation filling her at his decision. He was the King. They did not _have_ to do anything at the beck of a Mouse. He should know that the strategic advice of Mice, excellent faithful creatures though they were, was not the most rational or balanced counsel in the heat of crisis. _Please, think what you are doing._

Caspian caught her pleading look. He hesitated. "Unless," he said kindly, "Lucy would rather not?"

She could say the word, and they would leave this accursed place forever. He would listen to her – he had never doubted her word – and Edmund and Drinian would second and third her, and the ship's company would gladly turn back from the Darkness at her wish. But she was at the helm of Narnia no longer. And she would not let fear make her turn from that knowledge.

Lucy willed her voice to be steady and her head high as she spoke. "I'm game," she said simply, though she was shaking with the effort.

Caspian nodded. "Then it's settled. We go on."

Lucy felt nauseated at the consuming dread that washed over her at the thought. She drew a deep breath to try to calm her stomach.

Drinian frowned. "Your Majesty will at least order lights?" he said, frank disapproval in his tone.

"By all means," said Caspian. "See to it, Drinian." The Captain gave a quick curt nod and barked at the watchmen to light the prow and mast lanterns, shouting to Derth in the stern and the midshipmen for torches and the aft light to be prepared.

"Sire, let us post our battle stations with swords drawn!" cried Reepicheep. "We know not what formidable opponents wait for us in the mist; we should be armed and ready for them!"

"The Mouse speaks some sense at last," said Drinian, preparing to descend the stairs to the main deck. "Shall I give the orders, your Majesty?"

"I shall give them myself," declared Caspian. He strode to the edge of the deck and lifted up his voice. "Every Man and Beast, to arms and to your post!"

"Yes Sire!" came the responses all around them. The entire ship sprang into action, some to the quarters, others who bore arms or manned the sails already to their stations.

Lucy spared one last glance at the gaping mouth of the Darkness that was about to swallow them whole. _I have faced worse than you_, she told it fiercely.

"Come on," said Edmund, addressing her and Eustace in a flat voice. "Let's get our things."

"For the first time, I'd rather wish to be a dragon again for an hour," said Eustace.

"That would be helpful," Edmund admitted with the ghost of a grin. "Better than chain mail..."

* * *

Lucy entered the stern cabin with slow, deliberate steps. She did not believe the coming battle would need swords or bows or armor, but it was all that they had. And it was too late to turn back now. She would gladly give her life to defend Narnia, but she did not want this terrible Darkness to defeat her. It beckoned her, taunted her, told her things she wished she would not hear. And they had not yet reached the thick of it.

Around her in the cabin, people were gathering bits of armor and weaponry and outfitting themselves for the coming crusade. Her mind registered their faces – Edmund and Eustace, Drinian, Rhince… Caspian – but she couldn't hear their voices or focus on what they were doing. Her mind was fixed on the Darkness beyond, and the inevitability that she would come face to face with its power. It had whispered that it would take her. Had she fought death and abandonment, and the loss of everything she held dear, only to be overthrown by nameless fear? She vowed to herself she would not let it take her willingly. Lucy went solemnly to the far locker and opened it.

Leather jerkin, boots, vambraces; cloak, and belt and Gifted dagger reslung, and last of all the tightly strung bow and carved quiver. Lucy dressed herself for battle slowly, taking up each piece with fingers that remembered the old pattern. How many times she had prepared to go forth into combat thus, tightening laces and adjusting leather straps, murmuring words of protection and blessing over each layer. She did not say the words now. She could not bear another prayer unheard.

Lucy touched the cordial that hung around her neck; it was her constant companion in battle, even when she had had to tuck it away under cover of shirt and mail and tabard to keep Peter from noticing and preventing her from taking it. ("You might as well leave your shield at home as tell me to leave my cordial," she used to reason with him, and Susan would agree, "Or bid me forsake my horn at the hour of great need so that it might not blow itself hoarse." And then she and Susan decided that she did not need permission to bring it to the wars, when it was so obviously needed to save brave Men and Beasts from death. But Lucy would always slip a drop to the gravely wounded soldiers upon the battlefield under guise of dressing their wounds and giving them a flask of wine, and she would warn them to maintain the illusion of healing for a time so as not to disturb the High King's command. Edmund would hide a conspiratorial grin at her covert operations, whether or not Peter was there to see it.)

She wondered wistfully if the cordial could heal the fearful dread inside of her now, and underneath it the hurt of the memories that the Darkness had awakened. It would only take a drop…

Lucy shook herself. The Darkness was whispering to her again. She _would_ _not _ listen.

Turning to depart, she caught sight of Edmund, who was securing the final pauldron to the sleeves of his mail shirt. His tabard bore the emblem of the Great Lion ablaze in gold. Involuntarily, Lucy smiled. He looked _so_ like the King who would ride into battle with her, proud and splendid in Narnian accouterment, as together they would descend upon their enemies with drawn sword and notched arrow. All who had seen their synergy in battle, both friend and foe, knew the indomitable alliance of the steely King and fierce-eyed Queen upon their swift chargers, side by side leading their joint forces in victory.

It did not matter that they lacked a few inches and even more years on those days of united strength and glory. They were still Queen and King, Lucy and Edmund, Valiant and Just, Lioness and Knight. They were still of Narnia.

Lucy came to stand before him. Edmund put a gloved hand on her shoulder. "For Narnia," he said.

The habitual response rose to her lips without a second thought. "And for Aslan," Lucy replied, her head held high.

And side by side they went out from the stern cabin and onto the deck to face the grim Darkness that awaited them.

* * *

_But faced with the prospect of honor that no man had grasped before, the King pressed on into the thicket of knotted trees and thorns that lay before him, and was soon lost in the shadows of their branches._

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**A/N:** Lucy and Edmund! Lucy and Edmund! Come on! Aren't they great? :D


	7. Black Dawn

**Chapter 7: Black Dawn**

**Chapter rating:** T. Character death (canon) and descriptions of how it comes about, along with some grim images. This is the darkness before the dawn. I PROMISE it gets happy from here on out!

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everybody who's taken the time to read and review so far. I can't tell you how much each one means to me! There's a good bit of dialogue, as always, from VDT, as well as a couple small direct quotations from Lewis about the "little lighted world of its own" and "ancient-looking thing," which I would by no means wish to pass off as my own. There were a wide variety of songs used to write this chapter: Brooke Fraser's "C.S. Lewis Song" (quoted), Red's entire "Until We Have Faces" album (sensing a theme here), and finally a song based on the Song of Solomon, Jesus Culture "You Won't Relent".

* * *

_What was the nature of this dark enchantment upon the castle? Nobody could say for sure, for the dark being who had laid it there was long since disappeared, but every now and then, the people of that country would whisper of malevolent spirits that appeared in the night with visions of the past and the future and all manners of evil…_

* * *

**From the First Ballad of Queen Lucy the Valiant, Year 1009 of the Golden Age**_  
_

_"Speak to me in the light of the dawn,_

_For mercy comes with the morning"_

* * *

She had never known a bleaker sunlight than the wan colorless rays that surrounded the _Dawn Treader_ at the mouth of the cavernous Darkness. Her courage could not come from the brightness of the sun on her skin, nor the blue skies above that faded in the pallor of the abyss surrounding it, nor the wind that had ceased to blow long before. Lucy had never _not_ had Narnia itself on her side when she came to the brink of danger. It was a foreign sensation, a lonely feeling of losing one's implicit ally.

She turned to Edmund. "We come to it, then."

He gave her a measured look. "Just as we have always done," said Edmund. They had not needed words to reassure each other before battle since their earliest days of combat as mere children, fighting Cruels and Horrors back to back in the Shuddering Wood with inexpert strokes and whispered pleas for the touch of Aslan's Breath to fight the Magic no sword could touch. They had led by necessity then, without the benefit of long years of experience or hundreds of troops at their call. And after that terrible first year, Lucy and Edmund knew they were not alone when they took up dagger and bow and sword and prayer.

_Are you ssssoo sssssuure? _Lucy glanced sharply at the loathsome canvas of blackness that loomed beyond the prow. She did not want to consider that possibility, and she hated it for voicing her own thoughts.

She turned her face away. She wished so terribly she could be the Lucy of old, who would never have listened to the treacherous whispers of evil no matter how true they might seem. _How long will you hide your face?_

"Lucy." Edmund's voice was warning. "Don't."

She looked up into his eyes, knowing her own would give away her shameful cowardice. His searching gaze pierced her.

"As we have always done," he vowed quietly.

With Aslan's Breath on their faces.

And what was the use of fighting the Darkness without it?

Lucy breathed a silent prayer, but did not dare call _his_ name, lest he did not answer.

She nodded to Edmund, a quick uncertain motion, but wishing desperately to believe him. But then, he had always been honest with her. He did not tell her all would be well. He did not lie. And his steadfastness threw down the gauntlet to her own courage, to be the same Lucy who had fought death with bow and dagger, cordial and whispered words of healing.

A feeling of impending fate had seemed to settle over the entire ship, and a disquieting silence prevailed even as the crew members took their positions fore and aft. Nearby, Drizzlegrim and Cerdic were testing their bowstrings and glancing occasionally at Lucy, who kept gripping her bow and wondering how much good it would do against a formless enemy.

In a few moments, Eustace and Reepicheep joined her and Edmund at the rail of the midship. Even the Mouse was more solemn than usual. "Friends, it is time," he said. His only protection was his customary sword and belt. "Now we show what mettle we are truly made of."

Eustace looked strangely Narnian in his too-big armor. "That's all well and good for you, Reep," said Eustace in an undertone. "We all know what you're made of already. The rest of us might be alloys."

How like Eustace to retort in the face of danger with puns. Yet he had no conception of what might lie ahead for them.

Edmund gestured to Eustace's sword – Caspian's third best. "Try not to break that one," he said as an older cousin might, or as a commander might remind his man of past victories. Lucy couldn't help but give a small smile. Edmund was indeed as he always had been.

And then Caspian emerged from the stern, his presence seizing their attention. He was dressed in glittering mail and silver plate, the golden Lion emblazoning his purple tabard, and the helm of Narnia upon his head. He looked every inch the King. Coming to them, one hand on the hilt of his sword, Caspian surveyed each member of their waiting band of warriors. He nodded. "Let us go forth," he said simply.

"Our swords for Narnia," Edmund replied. As always, he did not give lengthy speeches, yet his words sank in with a rousing call to action. He did not falter in his dedication to this irrational cause. She could do no less.

Her heart in her throat, Lucy stepped forward. "We offer you the aid of the Narnian bow," she said, standing to her full height with head flung back proudly, "and the steady hand of its wielders."

Caspian's sea-blue eyes met hers. In their regard, Lucy thought she could see his realization of her as a long-standing protector of Narnia. Its Queen, no less.

"We are glad of its tender," said Caspian, rising to the old manners of her offer. "And we would welcome such aid. Lead your men, Queen."

"Not _men,_ your Majesty," interposed Drizzlegrim quite mournfully. "Marsh-Wiggle."

"A thousand pardons, good Wiggle," said Caspian, bowing. He turned to the rest of them. "To the bows, then?"

"Lead on, Sire!" cried Reepicheep.

Lucy watched her brother and dear friends set off for the forecastle deck, smothering the urge to run after them and not be so terribly exposed to the Darkness. But she had a part to play too. "Come," she said to Drizzlegrim and Cerdic. "We will be needed soon upon the top."

"After you, ma'am," said Cerdic, gesturing to the rigging.

Lucy took a deep breath. She slid her bow over her head so that it was slung behind her back, the string crossing her chest and resting on her hip. It would not do to fall while she climbed with one trembling hand. And then there was nothing to do but set her feet on the first rungs and begin the ascent.

As she rose, the Darkness became much more visible and present in her view, and it was all Lucy could do to keep climbing and thrust away the insidious coiling dread that threatened to paralyze her. It seemed a very long time before she finally reached the fighting-top and crawled up into the center of its platform. And then, at last standing upon the top staring face to face with the source of her fears, Lucy realized just how much courage this task would demand. Her fingers shook as she unslung her bow and tested its string and flex, the other two archers doing the same on either side of her around the north-facing side.

"As long as the string doesn't get wet, which I dare say it will in this mist," Drizzlegrim was saying in a low voice to them, though their ears were tuned for any shouted orders from below, "we may have a fighting shot before we lose visibility. Keep your eyes open as we go in."

Lucy froze. "Did you hear that?" she whispered. There it was again.

_Sssssoooo ssssuuuure… _the cold whispers drifted around them in the bleak silent sunshine. _Ennnnter and sssseeee…_

"It's not a wind," said Cerdic tersely. "There's someone just inside the mist."

"Or something," muttered Drizzlegrim.

Lucy reached for her quiver. "Arrows on the string," she ordered, though her skin crawled at the inhuman murmurings.

Caspian's voice, so clear and proud, rose from the bow of the ship. "And now, in Aslan's name, forward! A slow, steady stroke. And let every man be silent and keep his ears open for orders."

Aslan. Aslan would not forsake them. Lucy clung to the name like a lifeline. _Do not leave me now, Aslan_.

The _Dawn Treader_ creaked and swayed. Oars splashed the waters. And then they began to move forward.

Into the Darkness.

The dragon's guilded head disappeared. Then its neck. Then the folded wings. And then the forecastle where Edmund and Caspian and Eustace stood with swords drawn, and then the Darkness was _right in front of her_ and it was pulling her into its gaping emptiness…

Oh, _no no no NO!_

She was plunged into freezing shadow and gloom. The Darkness was all around her – on top of her, crushing her from all sides. The voices rose from a faint murmur to a screeching cacophony of shrill whistles and shrieks. The coil of dread reared up along her spine and ran the length of her body in a ripple of terror.

Lucy reeled and shuddered but held onto her notched bow and string for dear life, looking up and all around for what might be upon them. The only points of light in the roiling night were the pale flickers of the ship's lanterns: the stern light behind her, where the aft of the _Treader_ had been consumed along the rest of it; the forecastle light in front near where Sharptongue had settled in the lookout, and the two torches illuminating the armed men below. And above her head, the mast lantern swung, a little lighted world of its own floating in lonely darkness. It glowed eerie and lurid in the shadows that swirled around it. She could see nothing past it.

The _Dawn Treader _lurched forward without any visible progress. Minutes crawled by like years. Nobody dared speak. But this was worse, for then her ears were tuned to the savage sounds around them.

And then, worst of all, there came a piercing unearthly wail through their dark choruses. Though the ghastly tongues dimmed to a dull roar at the sound, Lucy's blood ran cold at the single voice. It was Human.

It cried out for mercy, mercy, even if they were only one more dream. Lucy opened her eyes wide to try to see who or where it was coming from. She thought she saw a ripple in the water beyond the port side near the forecastle. It begged, "Take me! Even if you strike me dead. But in the name of all mercies do not fade away and leave me in this horrible land."

Oh, was it a foul trick of the Darkness? Could any man have lived in this accursed place for any amount of time? _Youuuu willlllll_…

Lucy lowered her bow, though she kept the arrow on the string, and leaned over the rail of the fighting top to try to see more clearly. She was not the only one.

"Where are you?" shouted Caspian to the shadowy figure. "Come aboard and welcome."

Another inhuman cry filled the air, and the sound of furious thrashing, and the voices rose again, menacing and deadly. Then of a sudden they ceased again as Caspian called, "Stand by to heave him up, men!"

Lucy stared hard down at the gloomy sea as the torches were shone down over the port bow. The waters looked greasy and lifeless, those beautiful waves covered in a slick of black slime, parting thickly for the wildly splashing man. And it was a real flesh-and-blood man, she saw with some relief, as they hauled him over the side of the bulwark. In the oppressive cloak of the Darkness, she could not make out what sort of man he was, but she heard clearly his feverish words rising up from the deck. "Fly! Fly! About with your ship and fly! Row, row, row for your lives away from this accursed shore."

If only they would! And Reep was saying something about not flying from danger…

As she stared wide-eyed into the Darkness, Lucy started to think she could see shapes attaching to the growing noises. A shade in the distance moved. Dark clouds began to coalesce and creep toward them. Lucy gasped as something cold and vacuous swept past the fighting-top and into her chest, and her vision was shuttered with horrifyingly recognizable sights…

––

_The dank hold's shadows barely revealed the huddled figure in the corner where two armed Tarkaans loomed over him. He was shaking, murmuring something. One of the warlords grasped his head and struck it with the back of his spiked glove. The other Tarkaan leaned over and spat words at him. "Not even then," she heard him say, though she saw his face was pale and haggard at the threats. And then the cruelest-looking of the two smiled a terrible smile and drew his sharpened dagger. "You do not need these to talk." The first Tarkaan seized his bound hands and traced the point of the dagger over his fingers. The other reached for something in the shadows where vicious things glinted wickedly. She watched in horror as she saw what it was. A Calormene mace, the steel Tash head grinning in the darkness. And he saw it too. Brokenly he sobbed as he was pushed face to the floor and his hands, his beautiful hands were spread flat and helpless above his head. The Tarkaan stood over him, mace raised to swing. And she heard him whisper, "My Queen, I am not that strong…"_

––

Lucy's eyes filled with tears and she saw the Darkness all around her once more. The voices raged on, turning slowly from incoherent moans to tenebrous words she did not want to hear. _For this,_ the chant emerged from the macabre intonations of the Darkness. _For this he forsook you. _

No. _No._

"You will fly from here," the castaway wailed. "This is the Island where Dreams come true."

Lucy felt her knees start to give way, and the arrow of her bow clattered to the platform below. Her visions were true then. _Dear Aslan…_

The Darkness started to close in on her.

"I'd better have been drowned or never born than come here," cried the wild man. "Do you hear what I say? This is where dreams – Dreams, do you understand – come to life, come real. Not daydreams: Dreams."

Lucy gripped the rail of the fighting-top to keep herself from falling into the depths of the night. In that instant she was thrust into the dream that had woken her, screaming, on the night they first returned to England. It made every other nightmare seem bearable. Her world went dark.

_––  
_

_She was cold, so cold, and the darkness was so lonely here, it was swallowing her. Around her swirled hundreds of foul and evil creatures of the night: bone-chilling Spectres, Incubuses, Wraiths, Boggles, and all manner of Cruels, holding strange shadowy shapes in their hands. But the worst evil of all lay upon the merciless Stone Table before her: the Great Lion, still and motionless, his beautiful golden mane shorn and scattering the wet grass, ropes binding his velvety paws and muzzle covering his noble face._

_She came and knelt by the edge of the Table, brushing the soft blood-stained fur with numb fingers. "Aslan," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Dear Aslan. Wake up. Please wake up." But he did not awaken. She laid her cheek against his ruff, but the fur was cold and lifeless. She buried her hands in the short remnants of his mane, and there was no comforting warmth in response. And when she kissed his cruelly muzzled face, he did not stir, and she did not feel his life-giving Breath on her face as she always had._

_"Aslan," she sobbed. "Wake up. WAKE UP. You're alive. You're not dead anymore." She hid her face in the crest of his fur above the torn flesh where the Stone Knife had done its work. "I cannot live without you," she murmured._

_And still he did not move._

_Then she felt the cold turn to freezing winter and the icy fingers of the evil things around them reaching toward her. From the cold shelter of Aslan's limp fur, she saw the foul parade of horrors encircling the Stone Table, nearer and nearer till they pressed around them on all sides. And now she could see what they held in their hands and claws and outflung limbs: each had a knife of stone, sharp as steel, cruel-looking, ancient-looking things. The jagged edges gleamed wickedly, held aloft in the pale light of the torches. _

_A Spectre loomed over them, and the shadow of its knife fell across her face. And Lucy screamed as the Spectre plunged the ancient blade into Aslan's lifeless body. She clutched the Lion's neck with both arms, as if to shield him from the senseless attack. But one by one the horrific Wraiths and Hags and Incubuses each came and raised their stone knives and sank them into his defenseless flesh right before her eyes. They would kick him and strike his bound face after they had completed their gruesome task, and she could feel the sickening impact of their blows through her embrace. And Aslan's blood flowed over her…and she was so terribly alone._

––

Lucy struggled for air. It was _real_. It was not a dream. The voices were _them._ She could hear the ancient words, chanting, calling for his death. Beyond in the Darkness lurked the Spectres and Wraiths, Incubuses and Hags who had taken Aslan's life. And dreams here came _true._

_Aslan._

She had to get down. She had to. The Darkness pressed her too terribly with the visions of her dream, and she was going to fall under its weight. Beside her Drizzlegrim was covering his face with webbed hands, and Cerdic was on his knees, their bows forsaken.

She couldn't be alone. She needed the solidity of Edmund at her back, the steadfast belief of Caspian at her side, but most of all, oh, most of all she needed to feel Aslan's Breath upon her face, to know he was still with her.

But all she felt was the unbearable stillness.

Cries from the deck rose and mingled with the growing voices from the Darkness. She heard Caspian furiously bellowing, "Row! Row! Pull for all our lives! You can say what you like, Reepicheep. There are some things no man can face."

Dear Aslan. She could see _them_, reaching for her, surrounding her with the memories she tried so hard to forget. Lucy shrank back, watching the sinister shapes taking form in the Darkness and fly towards her in shadowy formations. She dared not go down, not now, not when the dark creatures might take the forms of her beloved Edmund and Caspian just as she reached them.

_I do not want to be afraid…_

But it was all real. Not a nightmare, not a dream. Real.

Terrible, wild, horrible screaming laughter. The voices were chanting again, louder and louder and ever present. "Never get out," yelled the castaway. "That's it. Of course. We shall never get out. What a fool I was to have thought they would let me go as easily. No, no, we shall never get out."

They wanted her. They had let her get away then. They had taken Aslan, as they would now take her.

Lucy leaned her head on the edge of the fighting-top. She whispered, "Aslan, Aslan, if ever you loved us at all, send us help now."

At his name, the clamoring voices died away. She still felt terribly cold, and terribly afraid, but she did not feel so terribly alone. The Darkness pressed in but it had not yet taken her. And she knew she was heard.

"Aslan, Aslan, Aslan," she said, over and over, the murmur of his name warm on her lips. "Aslan. Breathe on me. Dear Aslan."

The Darkness recoiled. In the blackness of its gloom, she saw a tiny speck of light, like a star appearing at twilight. It was a kindly light, not like the eerie lantern light. And then suddenly it widened into a beam of streaming radiance, appearing as glorious and brilliant as the midday sun in the midst of the Darkness. Lucy clung to the precious light, watching it with widened eyes, not daring to miss a single drop of its hope.

Through the rays of the beam, there appeared a white moving shape, not at all like the sinister ones of the Darkness, but a life-filled joyous thing on the horizon. She thought at first it looked like a cross, or perhaps an aeroplane, but as it came closer and closer she saw clearly what it was. It was an albatross.

The soaring bird wheeled overhead on great white wings and circled the mast of the _Dawn Treader_, once, twice, three times she counted. It swept the visions of the Cruels away with it as it flew over them. "Oh Aslan," she sighed. "Thank you."

With a rush of ecstasy, Lucy felt the Breath she had longed for, falling sweet and warm on her face. A delicious smell, more fragrant than the fireflowers of her cordial, cascaded over her. And then, the voice she knew and loved better than any other. "Courage, dear heart," it whispered to her.

Lucy could have sobbed with joy at the sound of Aslan's voice and the warmth of his Breath. He was alive. He had heard her. He gave her courage. She did not need to be afraid any more.

She watched the Albatross as long as she could. It came to rest for a moment on the crest of the gilded dragon at the prow, calling out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words, but Lucy thought it sounded like a song in a language she could not understand. And the Albatross seemed to pull the _Dawn Treader_ along with it as it spread its wings and rose into the Eastern sky.

Lucy felt a rush of wind, intoxicating and long-awaited, as they were set in motion and began to catch the breeze. Her eyes fixed on the hovering outline of the Bird that guided them, she saw with delight that the Darkness began to fade to a diminished grayness ahead, and there were no evils around her any longer.

With a swiftness she could almost not believe, the ship shot out into the sunlight, shedding the Darkness behind them forever. The light was blinding, too beautiful to bear yet she could not look away. She stretched out her arms to welcome it. It warmed her skin with friendly heat. She closed her eyes, wanting to feel the sweet embrace of the sunlight in every fiber of her being.

And when she opened them again, Lucy could not longer see the Albatross, but she still could sense Aslan's presence hovering over them with every breath. All about her was brightness, and color, and goodness; the gold and green of the _Dawn Treader_ gleamed with unquenchable brilliance; the waters below tossed with blues and greens and yellows in the sunlight.

And the joy of Aslan filled her heart, and drove the shadows of the Dark Island away behind her for once and for all.

* * *

**From the ballad of the Queen Clarion, Year 712 of the Age of Creation**

_I will set you as a seal upon my heart,_

_As a seal upon my arm;_

_For there is love that is strong as death,_

_Jealousy demanding as the grave_

_And many waters cannot quench this love…_

* * *

_But the enchantment upon the castle, though strong, was not unbreakable; it simply awaited the faith of one who was true of heart and courageous of spirit to resist its darkness and break through the thorns that surrounded it._

* * *

..

..

**A/N:** This chapter reduced ME to tears as I wrote it. Please let me know what you think. It was a real labor of love for me.


	8. Blue Waters

**Chapter 8: ****Blue Waters**

**A/N: **Forgive me if this is a little rough; I'm very anxious to get to the next chapter. And er, sorry for the delay. Life happens, you know? :)

* * *

_And the winds of the Good Magic - for there was Good as well as Dark Magic in that land - carried the whispers of hope into the castle, and through the hedges of the dark forest and past the thorns and to the noble heart who traversed its perils..._

* * *

She could feel wind again, rushing against her face, oh glorious wind! The _Dawn Treader_ was once again carried along in its stream, the terrible stillness left behind them along with the Darkness. As Lucy returned the glad shoulder claps of her relieved fellow archers, she spared a single glance to the West. The shadow was still there, but it was now far in the distance and did not trouble her with dread or whispers as it had before she called upon Aslan. His voice lingered in her ears, his Breath a warming spirit of joy and comfort that not even the sight of the fading Darkness could diminish.

Lucy sighed contentedly, then turned and retrieved her bow from the platform and followed Drizzlegrim and Cerdic down the rigging. It was almost too wonderful to be true, that they had emerged unscathed from the peril of the dark and into untroubled sunlight, and that Aslan himself was guiding them into the next leg of their journey. Her feet touched the deck, and she could have wept with relief.

Immediately she race to the dazed group that were gathered on the portside bow. There were still some hand clasps and back slaps and exclamations over the safe retreat, but a solemn feeling still hung over the _Dawn Treader_, more like relief at the deliverance from the Darkness than exuberance at any sort of victory or celebration.

But before Lucy had time to think much on that, she had found her brother amongst the crowd. Heedless of the hard bits of armour and weaponry they carried that made such an action uncomfortable, she pulled him into a crushing embrace. "Edmund! Thank Aslan!"

Edmund returned her hug fiercely. "He saved us," he said in a low voice beside her ear.

"As he always has," she said, standing straight and looking at him directly. His face was rather pale, but shone from within. Lucy asked eagerly, "Did you hear him too?"

Edmund nodded. "And I can see that you felt his Breath as well." He touched her cheek gently, and she wondered if she was glowing like he was, like they all had whenever Aslan would breathe on them.

"But look, the stranger is speaking." Edmund gestured toward the group that was gathering around the castaway, and they moved toward the edge of it where Caspian was standing before the wild-looking man. In the bright sunlight, Lucy had her first clear glimpse of the man's drawn face, his white mop of hair, the rags that hung about him, and the terrible thinness of his shaking limbs. He was speaking to Caspian with a voice that quavered.

Edmund and Lucy joined Caspian in time to hear the stranger's name. "…a Telmarine of Narnia, and when I was worth anything men called me the Lord Rhoop."

Without his helmet, Caspian's face showed his frank surprise at this revelation. His mail glittered in the glancing rays of the sun. "And I am Caspian, King of Narnia, and I sail to find you and your companions who were my father's friends."

Lucy watched the poor trembling man sink to his knees and kiss Caspian's hand as though it was the most precious treasure in the world. She bit her lip, and her fingers reached automatically to the cordial under her jerkin, wishing to heal this broken man, even as he begged Caspian for a boon.

"What is it?" asked Caspian, very gently.

Rhoop looked pleadingly up at him. "Never to ask me, nor to let any other ask me, what I have seen during my years on the Dark Island."

Lucy put a hand to her lips. She would not be in any danger of asking him any such thing.

"An easy boon, my Lord," answered Caspian, and added with a shudder, "Ask you: I should think not. I would give all my treasure not to hear it." His face darkened with the memories of their ordeal.

Lucy could not help herself; she stepped close to Caspian and touched his mail-covered arm softly. He glanced at her for a moment, and she read in his eyes a spectrum of emotions; compassion, astonishment, remembrance, and shame at his own weakness. She must speak with him later. But for now, the shattered man before them was even more in need. "You have our word," she said to Rhoop. "We will leave the Darkness behind us forever."

Rhoop turned and stared out at the Western horizon, transfixed by the sight of the retreating blackness, only a small hole in the bright blue sky now. "You have delivered me from it," he rasped.

Lucy shook her head. "I don't think it was us." The sweet wild scent of Aslan's Breath still hung on her lips, though the Albatross was no longer to be seen anywhere in the skies. Lucy closed her eyes. _Thank you_, she breathed again silently to the wind. _Aslan._ _Thank you._ And the wind whispered back to her, _You have work to do._

She nodded and gazed once more into the sunlight, looking at Rhoop with Aslan's eyes.

"Come," said Lucy unclasping her cloak and throwing it over the Lord's bony shoulders. "You must rest." She drew the dazed refugee into a firm embrace and pulled him with her. The crew parted for them, Caspian giving her an approving look that warmed her for a moment, and she set her path for the stern cabin with her charge. Lucy's eyes met Edmund's, and he smiled slightly at her as she slipped easily into her old role. He always understood.

Rhoop bowed his head wearily and followed her without protest. Behind them she heard Drinian requesting orders to set sail and send the crew to bed, and Caspian agreeing and calling for grog all round and yawning. But Lucy was not tired at all; her mind was full of Aslan, and of what Rhoop must have suffered in the Darkness all those years. She could not bear to think of it; years and years of nightmarish evil holding him prisoner, with no hope of rescue. She clutched Rhoop's shoulders tighter.

"Here we are," she said comfortingly as she opened the door to the stern cabin and lead Rhoop into her own room. The Lord sighed as he viewed the beautiful images of the Narnian creatures that covered the walls of her cabin. He touched them reverently. "Oh Aslan," he sighed. "It is has been so long. I have heard these Beasts speak…"

Lucy put her hand on his arm. "You will again," she promised. Her heart breaking for the exiled Narnian and his years of torment, she drew him to the bunk and touched the cherry wood, begging it to let him forget, just this once. "Sleep now," she said, and laid the unresisting man down with distressing ease on the bed; he hardly weighed more than she did, Lucy thought concernedly.

She stooped a moment over him, considering, and then it was so simple that she _should_ do it that she marveled at ever hesitating. Lucy pulled the diamond bottle from its chain and unstopped it. The familiar delicious smell of the cordial filled the cabin. She breathed it in gratefully.

"Here." She held the bottle over Rhoop's white lips, and a drop fell onto them and he savored the sweet taste of the fireflowers. For the first time, a smile crossed his face, and his eyes closed.

Lucy settled the covers around his thin frame. "You are safe now, Lord Rhoop," she whispered. She thanked Aslan that he had granted his subject peace at last.

Very softly she closed the door behind her, and came once again into the glorious sunlight of the deck. A warm breeze greeted her as she stood by the starboard bow of the ship.

"Does he rest?" Edmund appeared by her side, looking thoughtful.

"Yes," said Lucy, thinking that her brother looked much older, much closer to the man he had left behind each time in Narnia. Aslan's Breath also had that effect. She laid her hand over his, her gauntlet pressing against his mail and glove. "He will sleep for a while, I think. He has endured much evil."

"I can't even begin to imagine," said Edmund. "Lucy, why did I not call on Aslan sooner?"

"I ask myself the same thing," said Lucy meditatively. "He was there with us all along. He even told me that himself, in the Magician's house."

"I knew he would be there," Edmund said with a grave sigh. "And yet, the evils…they were all I could think about…they told me…oh Lucy, they told me terrible things. And for a time I _believed them._ I believed Aslan would not listen to the one who had betrayed him." His voice was tinged with bitterness.

Lucy pressed his hand. "Edmund, _they were there._ The ones who killed Aslan. It wasn't just nightmares. They wanted you to believe that. Oh Edmund, it's not true. Not true at all."

Edmund's eyes were very dark. "I thought I had left those demons behind a long time ago."

Lucy could not bear his distress; she wanted so badly to fix it, to give him peace as she had Rhoop, but there were some things her cordial could not heal. Very quietly she said, "And yet, you called his name. And he heard and answered."

This was the right thing to say. His face was illuminated with the remembrance, and a peace settled over Edmund as he seemed to release the memories of the darkness. In a faraway voice, he murmured, "His mercies are new every morning…"

They stood for a few moments, breathing in the rejuvenation of the ocean air and brilliant rays that glinted off the shifting waves. The crew moved around them, disarming and setting the sails and drawing the oars in, but the King and Queen were lost in the peace of Aslan's Breath.

* * *

Perhaps half an hour later, they went together to the stern cabin to put away their battle gear, a familiar ritual from their years of reign. There they found Caspian and Eustace removing the last of their armor. None of them knew quite what to say; what exactly did one say after seeing the most terrible nightmares in full view of everyone? Wordlessly Lucy and Edmund began unbuckling their own accouterment and replacing each piece in its proper locker. There was a great sense of relief that they had not needed to use it, but also a solemn sense that they had left behind a battle that they would not wish to fight again.

Caspian spoke at last, glancing at the two of them with a kind of wonder. "We're all shaken up, and you two are _glowing._ What happened out there?"

Edmund and Lucy looked at each other. "It's…a lot to explain," said Edmund. "And it would be a better story after we all rest."

Reluctantly Caspian nodded. "I could nod off right here," he admitted, yawning again. "But I _do_ want to hear the tale, and soon." He continued to clean and wrap the remaining plates of armor in their cloths, a task every warrior no matter how tired would complete after a battle.

"Are you all right?" asked Lucy in an aside to Eustace, who was quieter than usual and did not look like his normal self.

"I think so," said Eustace, trying to sound off-handed about it. "But look here, Lu. What's to say we won't, er, _keep_ having those sorts of dreams? Even when we sleep?"

"I think we'll be safe tonight," said Lucy very kindly. "I don't expect to be in any danger of dreaming…or if we do, it will be good dreams."

"We'll take your word for it, Lu," said Edmund, clapping Eustace on the back. "I suppose you're as tired as I am?"

"Probably more," said Eustace with the ghost of his usual verve.

"Bed isn't getting any closer standing here. Come on."

The two of them headed off through the stern door. Watching their departure, Lucy packed away the last of her things, considering for a moment what to do with her dagger. She should not need it, but she also didn't want to put it away with the rest of the ordinary weapons, and it would not do it at all to leave it in the cabin with Rhoop. She decided to wear it after all, and reslung the belt over her ordinary clothes. And the cordial would remain around her neck as it ever had, ready for her to do her work…

"Lucy." Caspian's voice broke through her reflections. She looked up at him. Without the trappings of his armor, Caspian had a new sort of quiet authority that hung on him. She wondered if he had felt Aslan's Breath too…but he did not appear to radiate with its light…

"You took great care of Rhoop," said Caspian. "He is a troubled man."

"He rests now," said Lucy, "but I may need to give him more than one drop. His hurt has been great."

Caspian came to stand very close in front of her, till she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. He looked at her with an expression she could not read. "This is how you were, isn't it?" he said, almost…reverently? Why would he be _reverent?_

"What do you mean?" asked Lucy curiously.

"In your time," said Caspian. His expression – no, it was not awe, but something close to it. "The Valiant Queen, Bearer of the Cordial. The Narnians still speak of her. Her hands would bring both healing and death. And she was as beautiful as she was fierce in battle and kind of heart to all…"

Lucy did not know how to respond to this. "I am just Lucy now," she said at last, discomfited by his praise.

"No," he said fervently. "That Queen stands before me even now."

Was that truly what he saw? Lucy remembered the times Aslan had breathed upon them – oh, so many times, in times of great joy and great need – and how each time they had seemed to grow stronger, and more noble, and more like their true selves. Perhaps it was so here. She did not feel any difference, save for the wonderful peace that flowed through her at the memory of Aslan's blessing.

"I felt Aslan," she said simply, a slight smile crossing her face as she spoke the name.

And that should be explanation enough, shouldn't it?

Caspian startled. "When? You mean…_in the Darkness?_"

"Yes. And oh Caspian, it was almost worth it all, to feel his Breath again!"

"I believe it," said Caspian quietly. "But where was he? Why did he almost let us perish in there?"

"But he didn't! He was the Albatross that lead us out!"

Caspian gazed at her face. "Queen, you know this for sure." It was not a question, but a plea for further explanation.

"I called to Aslan when we were lost there," said Lucy, "and I saw him bring the light and draw us out of the Darkness."

Caspian considered this for a moment. "Then it was no mere stroke of luck that we were saved," he said slowly.

"Luck?" Lucy was taken aback. Where to even _begin_ with such an assumption? _Dear Caspian_, she though, _there is much we have yet to tell you._ She shook her head and took his hand, recognizing the boldness of her action in passing but intent on her purpose. "Aslan's children do not need luck," she told him with deep fervency. "Nothing happens by chance, or accident."

Caspian clasped her hand in return. "I would speak with you more of this, and of all that has happened today. But I am keeping you from your rest."

"I am always glad to talk," she said with a shake of her head. "But _you_, on the other hand, look like you're ready to drop. We will talk more when we are both rested."

"You know me too well," said Caspian with a slight grin. "High thoughts and little sleep do not a wise man make."

Lucy smiled at the quotation. "The philosophers speak from experience, I think. Best to take their advice."

She tugged his hand and nodded to the door. Caspian laughed softly, and followed her to the doorway where the gilded mane of the Lion was shining in the sunny cabin. As Lucy pulled it open, she felt the warm rays fall once again on her face and the salty breeze, and sighed with joy.

"You love the light, do you not?" asked Caspian in a low voice.

"I welcome it like a lover," she said without thinking. It was only after the words hung in the air that she realized how such a declaration would sound to Caspian. She slipped her hand out of his and turned to the main deck with a parting, "Rest well, Caspian," not daring to look at his face. She heard him wish her the same as she departed.

And then he called her. "Lucy." It took all her fortitude to turn and meet his eyes. The sunlight glanced off his golden-brown hair. Caspian was looking at her with not quite a smile, but the promise of one. "I welcome it too."

Lucy felt a delightful impulse turn her insides over at his words, a reaction she was quite helpless to suppress with intellect. For he was so very…well…impossible to resist. And she was not putting up much of a fight, not when eyes the color of the sea after a storm were calling her to drown in their depths, and when her heart was twisting strangely at the irresistible hope they offered.

There did not seem to be anything she could say to this, so she returned a smile in kind and hoped her face would say what her lips could not. Then Lucy turned once again to the bow where the dark blue waters rushed past, glad of the comfort that the sea could offer once more. She watched the foam of the waves around the keel for several minutes, until Caspian was safely out of sight below deck.

Most of the crew slept late into the afternoon and evening, exhausted by their long day and night of rowing and the terrors of the Darkness, and were glad of the reprieve from duty.

But for Lucy's part, she crawled up into the prow to sit beside the lookout from within the dragon's mouth, and gazed to the East and thought of many things, treasuring them all up in her heart where they would be kept safe, and where she did not fear the gentle flame of hope that burned there.

* * *

**From the Second Ballad of Queen Lucy the Valiant, Year 1011 of the Golden Age**

_"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you;_

_Don't go back to sleep. _

_You must ask for what you really want;_

_Don't go back to sleep. _

_People are going back and forth between the door sill where the two worlds touch. _

_The door is round and open. _

_Don't go back to sleep."_

* * *

_And the Queen smiled in her sleep..._

* * *

**..**

**..**

**A/N:** The ballad at the end is shamelessly plundered from the poetry of Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet and mystic. Thanks to rthstewart for sending those my way! I'm sure I will be doing more plundering in the next few chapters. Up next is FLUFFLYFLUFF and stargazing. Thanks to EVERYONE who has stuck it out and is hoping for more Lucian. The next chapter will hopefully be satisfactory to all those shippy hearts out there!


	9. Crimson Sunset

**Chapter 9: Crimson Sunset**

**Chapter rating: **Still K+. But serious crushing going on! ;)

**A/N: **And finally we come to it! FLUFF! Lucian! Hallelujah!

* * *

_And the same winds that swept through the castle, bearing hope upon their currents, carried the King on his quest, bringing courage for the task as he set forth into the enchantment of the forest._

* * *

The _Dawn Treader_ seemed to glide upon the parting waters of the Eastern Sea as if they were sailing on a clear lake, untroubled by rough seas or flagging winds. Lucy thought she could have watched the horizon forever, stretching out before them with glassy stillness, but the waning of the sun across the sky behind them reminded her of the passage of time, and reluctantly she climbed down onto the forecastle just before dinner.

Lucy thought it likely that Lord Rhoop might wake to eat soon, and it was easy enough to assemble a plate from the galley (Cook was well used to her comings and goings by then) and bring a flagon of spiced wine, which was quite warming once you got used to the unexpected bite of its flavors. She crossed the main deck with a dish in each hand. By then the ship was once again bustling with a newly replenished crew, who were completing their final chores before dinner. Glancing up, Lucy could see Sharptongue keeping watch on the yardarm, with Edmund below the Raven on the fighting-top.

She found Caspian standing near the side close to the stern cabin, gazing out to the Eastern Sea. The waves shone gently with the sun's slanting rays from the West, though they were still an hour or so from sunset. Caspian turned as Lucy approached, and her stomach did a funny little somersault at the shy smile that lit up his face. It was not an unwelcome feeling.

"You've got an early start on dinner, I see," said Caspian when she was within a few steps of him. The teasing tone of his voice was warm, inviting…

Lucy gave him an amused look and lifted the rather large flagon as if toasting him. "And celebrating as well," she replied with a grin.

Caspian lifted an eyebrow. "Please tell me that's to _share."_

Lucy couldn't help laughing at his droll expression. "As a matter of fact, it is. And the food too." She motioned to the cabin with a turn of her head. "For Lord Rhoop. I think he is still resting. Would you like to come with me and see him?"

"I would be glad to," said Caspian, looking rather thoughtful at the mention of the castaway. He fell in beside her and held out his hand to take the heavy cup from her. Lucy gave him a sideways look as his fingers brushed her thumb. She released the flagon, and together they crossed the remaining distance to the stern cabin. He held the door open and she glided inside.

A few more steps, and she was at her former cabin's door with Caspian right behind her. Lucy listened for any signs of stirring within, but all was quiet. She knocked softly and pushed open the door.

Rhoop still slept, his sparse frame barely taking up any room on the bunk. Looking with compassion on the gaunt man that lay before them, Lucy felt hesitant to wake him and disturb the peace that comforted him, the oblivion of his sleep. She thought of the terrible things he had seen, of what might be waiting for him when he awoke. She bit her lip and looked at Caspian. "Should we…"

"I think so," said Caspian. "He needs food as much as he needs rest. And he's been asleep for half the day."

Caspian did not seem to share her concerns for Rhoop's waking state. Lucy knew it was only a matter of time, anyways. She handed the plate in her hand to Caspian and stepped to the side of the bed, kneeling there. "Lord Rhoop," she said, laying a hand on his bony wrist. "Will you awake? We've brought you a bite to eat…"

Lucy found her hand seized in a crushing grip. Rhoop's eyes were wide open, staring wildly from the hollows of his face. He looked terribly shaken, as though he was suddenly thrust into a nightmare. _"Who are you?"_ he cried. "Why do you torment me so?"

"My Lord, you are safe here," said Caspian, standing next to Lucy's shoulder and looking with concern at the shaking figure. "It is I, Caspian, son of your King. And this is Queen Lucy of Narnia. You are among friends and countrymen. The Darkness is gone."

"Don't!" wailed Rhoop. "Don't make me _go back there!_ I will wish for death, and death will not come! This is just another dream that _they_ have sent, to taunt me with hope only to snatch it away forever."

He was thrashing frantically, and Lucy tried to still his jerking motions to no avail, so she clasped his clawing hand and spoke through his ravings. "Rhoop. You've lived in despair for so long, and I can only imagine the agony you've been in. But you were delivered from that place by Aslan himself! He has not forgotten you. He brought us to you." Lucy felt as though it was not her speaking; the words seemed to be coming from outside of herself, or somewhere deep within that was rising to the surface. She had not realized till that very moment, but suddenly it all made sense. They had not sailed to the Dark Island for adventure or glory. They had come to rescue Rhoop from that terrible, terrible place. And Aslan knew this even if they had not.

At Aslan's name, Rhoop seemed to calm a little, though he continued to twist and turn nervously. "You are not a Boggle? Or a witch?"

"I can't cast spells or send you dreams," said Lucy with a shake of her head. "I'm a Narnian, like yourself."

"You gave me something, something that made me fall asleep." Rhoop was looking somewhat fearfully at her, trying to pull his hand away.

"That is Aslan's gift," said Lucy, and she drew the tiny bottle on its chain from under her shirt. Rhoop's face relaxed again at the warm syllables of the Great Lion's name. Lucy showed him the cordial. "This is no black magic, only the healing juice of the fireflowers of the North. It's nothing to do with me."

"However, Queen Lucy _is_ a healer," Caspian broke in. "She wishes only to restore your health, my Lord. And you need food to regain your strength. You must be hungry; here, eat and drink your fill."

"A little at a time," cautioned Lucy, as Caspian knelt by her side and offered Rhoop the simple repast, who stared for a moment and then began wolfing down the bread and cheese. "I don't suppose you are accustomed to much food. You will have to adjust to it slowly."

"No, no, there was no food there," said Rhoop with a shiver, clutching at the flagon of wine with hands that still trembled. "There was no anything there, just _them_." His fingers shook so greatly that drops of wine spilled as he tried to drink. Lucy put her hands around the sides of the flagon to steady it, feeling her heart ache for Rhoop's long ordeal.

Caspian was studying his face intently, and glanced at Lucy when she took the wine from Rhoop's hands. Lucy knew what was on his mind; they had promised not to ask him about his time on the Dark Island, yet how were they to help him if they did not know what he had suffered?

Rhoop seized the dried fruit upon the plate and held it like it was a pure gold nugget. "Apples. Narnian apples. I used to ride with Erimon to the old ruins by the sea and pick the apples that grew in the wild forests there." He tasted the fruit with a far-off look in his ever-shifting eyes.

Their orchard. Lucy was amazed at the thought of the sustenance it had brought to centuries of Narnians.

"You knew Erimon," said Caspian thoughtfully. "You will want to meet Drinian, our captain, for he is the son of Lord Erimon."

"He is long gone," said Rhoop in a very distant tone. "Dead, like all of my companions, dead by Miraz's hand, dead under the waves, dead upon islands and dark lands." He reached for the wine again.

Lucy touched his hand firmly. "Do you want to remember, Rhoop? Or does it bring you more pain than pleasure?"

"There is nothing but pain now," said Rhoop, looking at her with a haunted expression on his face. "There is no pleasure save the fleeting hope of false dreams."

"Then do not dream at all." Lucy wrapped Rhoop's hands around the flagon, then drew out her cordial and unscrewed the diamond stopper from the bottle. She carefully poured a single drop into the remaining wine. "When you wish to sleep without dreams, drink the rest of this, and call upon Aslan, and he will give you the peace you seek."

"I do not know this name." Rhoop stared at the cup, his fingers shaking a little less. "But it warms me strangely."

"And he knows yours," said Lucy simply. "You can trust him to watch over you." She rose to her feet, and Caspian did the same, and they stood for a moment by the side of the dazed-looking man, examining him carefully. Rhoop seemed to be slipping away again into the same state of withdrawal from this morning. Further conversation would only distress him further.

"Sleep soon, Lord Rhoop," said Lucy. "There's nothing to fear now."

Rhoop nodded and drank from the cup. It was soon empty, and Lucy took it from his hands and watched with some relief as he sank back onto the bed and struggled no longer.

Caspian set the plate on the nightstand and followed Lucy out of the room, softly closing the door behind them. They came into the stern cabin to discover dinner set upon the table there, and Edmund and Eustace already sitting down to eat.

"There you are!" said Eustace. "We got tired of waiting and decided to just tuck in. I'm half done already."

"How is Rhoop?" asked Edmund, glancing at Lucy.

She shook her head. "Unwell. He's still back there, in his mind. I'm afraid even the cordial is just a temporary healing for the dreams that trouble him."

"Do you think he will recover?" Caspian asked her frankly. "He is the first living Lord we've found since Bern. It pains me to see him in this state."

Lucy could not answer this for sure. "Time will tell. I think Aslan will be merciful to him, for he loves Narnia too."

The sun was setting behind them through the glass of the three small windows, and Lucy could see the brilliant array of colors that beckoned her to come linger in their play of lights and hues. Impulsively, she picked up her own plate and explained to the others, "I can't miss the sunset tonight. It's too beautiful."

Eustace snorted, and Edmund said, "Only you, Lu."

Caspian, though, nodded. "I know what you mean. I'll keep you company, if our exalted dining party will excuse my presence for one night." He flashed the other two a mocking grin. Lucy did not quite like the knowing look Edmund gave him in return.

"Have at it," said Eustace. "I think we can bear the loss for one dinner."

Caspian leaned to take his plate too and cuffed Eustace's arm with his fist in passing. _Boys._ Lucy grinned as she took a step back toward the door.

"Here, take this." Edmund produced a small wineskin on a leather loop and held it to her.

Lucy's eyebrows raised. "Where did you get _that?"_

"The less questions asked, the better," said Edmund. "I'm being very generous."

"Thanks." Lucy accepted the offered flask and slipped it onto her belt. She tried to keep her cheeks from flushing at Edmund's deliberate diplomacy.

"I shall pretend I didn't see all that," said Caspian with a wry smile.

* * *

Outside the cabin, the _Dawn Treader_ was surrounded by a gloriously vivid sunset that spanned the entire Western horizon. Lucy scrambled up the aft stairs to the poop deck, holding on to the rungs with her free hand. Caspian was right behind her, and he stepped onto the deck a moment after her.

The beauty of the skies around her took Lucy's breath away. She stood for a moment in silent appreciation of its splendor. Then realizing Caspian was looking curiously at her, Lucy remembered to breathe and keep going. She came to the small wooden bench on the port side of the railing and took a seat, and Caspian sank down next to her a minute later.

Lucy looked out on the horizon where the sun was just above the dark indigo line of the sea. All around it were fiery streaks of crimson and pink, and beyond that a canvas of purple and sapphire brushstrokes that blazed and glowed like no painting ever could. Lucy gazed with longing at the vivid landscape, wishing she could soak in its colors and remember it whenever she wanted. It made her remember the many nights of bidding the sun farewell on the shores of Cair Paravel, or aboard the _Aureal Gazelle_, prow pointed toward Narnia and the West on their return voyage. Her lips parted in a silent sigh of wonder and pleasure at the memory.

Beside her, Lucy felt Caspian's eyes not on the sunset, but resting on her. All of a sudden, self-consciousness overwhelmed her. She was sitting alone with a boy – or as alone as one could get on a tiny ship full of crew members – eating dinner and watching a _sunset_ for goodness's sake! Susan would have called it a date. Lucy felt heat burn her face at the thought, suddenly aware of the closeness of Caspian's leg to her own, close enough that she could feel his warmth against her.

She cast a quick glance up at him, and the expression in Caspian's eyes as they met hers only added to her confusion. Of course they had talked together before during the voyage…but it hadn't been like this, this almost tangible weight of anticipation or – Lucy was not sure what to call it; she almost did not dare call it anything, for fear that she was making too much of it. Nevertheless, she was aware how this would seem to any onlookers, and glanced away to survey the swathe of deck around them for who exactly might be watching. The upper deck there did not have many occupants, particularly since it was dinner time, and the boatswain Derth was at the tiller a ways behind them. Nobody seemed to care very much that Caspian was sitting with her there – she talked with _everybody_ – and they were friends.

_Don't be such a silly __**girl**__…_

As they nibbled on the meal they had brought, Lucy quelled the strange feeling in her stomach and turned again to him with determined composure. "It almost is too beautiful to bear, isn't it?"

Caspian nodded. "We haven't had a sunset this brilliant since the last storm. I've missed them."

"Oh yes! I was just thinking of how many times I've watched one just like this on the Eastern Sea…but much closer to Narnia. And it was never this – oh, grand. All around me. Like it's filling up the sky." Lucy felt like she was babbling now, but Caspian seemed to understand.

"The horizon looks almost bigger, I think," he replied seriously, "and perhaps it is, as we draw nearer to the edge of the world. If it _is_ like a great round table, wouldn't the edge grow larger as you got closer?"

"A beautiful theory…as long as we're not close to falling off," Lucy said, smiling. She handed him the wineskin from her belt.

Caspian looked thoughtful as he took a sip. "Do you think – well, what do you think is waiting for us, further East? At the end, I mean."

"Reep thinks it's Aslan's Country." Lucy contemplated the panaroma before them; the sun that was just now dipping halfway out of sight in a blaze of scarlet flames. She sighed, thinking of the end of the adventure that arriving to that country would imply. "I couldn't tell you if I hope for that or not. Of course it must be a splendid place, and best of all we would see Aslan."

"Yes," said Caspian, his voice wistful, fingers toying with the apple on the plate in his lap. "I would like that more than anything. I can't believe you _saw_ him today."

"Well, a form of him," said Lucy. "I love it best when he is a Lion, of course, because that's who he is! But it was wonderful, just to hear him again and feel that he was with us."

"You're lucky, you know." Caspian sounded almost envious. "I haven't seen him since the coronation." He looked down at the apple in his hand, and Lucy, about to speak, thought he seemed to be working up the courage to say something, and bit her lip, waiting. He said softly, "It's been a long three years…wondering if he even still is with me."

Lucy put her hand on his arm. "Of course he is. Don't you remember Deathwater Island? We all saw Aslan then! I know it's not the same as talking with him, but even seeing him was so lovely, even when he's angry…"

"_What?_" asked Caspian. "Aslan? On Deathwater? You may have seen him, but I have no memory of Aslan there. Nor, strangely, of what precisely we did see there, save that we found the body of Lord – oh, what's his name."

Lucy stared at him. They had not talked of that perilous island or the events that had transpired there, by mutual agreement as Lucy had thought. She hadn't wanted to press Edmund or Caspian about it, out of kindness for the things that were spoken in anger there. The memory of their words, and her own foolishness, still made her shiver. The Caspian sitting there beside her, so young-looking and noble in the suffused twilight, earnest-faced and open, was not at all the Caspian she had seen at Deathwater…

_––  
_

_She could not believe the things he was saying, these terrible ugly words, claiming possession of the island and its riches forever, binding them to secrecy, threatening them with death if they told. Lucy wanted to scream, to run up to Caspian and shake him and tell him to stop saying these things, these words that could not be unsaid, but the awful look in his eyes and set of his jaw told her that he would not listen. She could not bear the flush of greed that spread across his face – not greed for the money, she knew; greed for the promise of security and power it offered. Anger at his blindness swelled up inside her; didn't he see that Aslan himself had made Caspian King, and there was no need to be anything more than what he had made him? What good would riches without honor do? And he was ready to __**kill**__ for that?_

_She clenched her fists, opened her mouth to speak, but Edmund spoke first. "Who are you talking to? I'm no subject of yours. If anything it's the other way round. I am one of the four ancient sovereigns of Narnia and you are under allegiance to the High King my brother."_

_The shock of Edmund's arrogance and claim to power struck Lucy like a slap in the face. He knew as well as she did that Caspian reigned now, no matter what mistakes he made…even the one he was making right now…_

"_So it has come to that, King Edmund, has it?" said Caspian, laying his hand on his sword-hilt. Horror and rage flooded Lucy at the thought of Caspian and Edmund coming to blows over the kingship of Narnia. Caspian was too young, too innocent for such brutality! And Edmund should know better. He had commanded boys Caspian's age in battle…he had been such a one himself, leading an army when he was no older than they were now…_

_And yet Edmund was reaching for his sword as well, his face hard and fierce, and he stepped towards Caspian. Words, ugly words poured out of Lucy. She screamed at them to stop, that they were swaggering bullying idiots, they were behaving like brawling schoolboys, anything to get them to put down their weapons and act like the Kings of Narnia that they were. Edmund was shouting at her to stay out of this, and Caspian was drawing his sword with a terrible expression on his face. She flew at them, preparing for the impact of one or both of them to try to block her…and stopped short._

_Aslan. The Great Lion filled the hillside with his brilliant majesty, stern and fearsome in his silent rebuke. Lucy gasped, suddenly overcome with unspeakable joy at the sight and with shame at her behavior. And though he did not speak as he passed, his blazing golden eyes seemed to pierce straight through her and lay her true self exposed in all its inadequacy. Lucy wished desperately to run to him and bury her hands in his mane and confess every selfish and weak part of her, but before she could move a step, the Lion had disappeared from the hill and left only the fading memory of his glory and the realization of what that Island had made them do…_

––

"You – don't remember _any _of it? Aslan, or you and Edmund –" Lucy was struck by the bewildered look on Caspian's face, reminding her suddenly of how he had acted immediately after the perilous adventure, and realized this was not something she should be telling him. If Aslan wished for him to forget the person he had become under the sway of Deathwater's temptation, she should not attempt to remind him of it. Her own temptation had been private, thank Aslan, but had Caspian been there to witness it (perish the thought!), she would have been glad for the same kindness of forgetfulness.

Lucy discovered that her hand closest to Caspian was still touching his upper arm, the firm muscle under his shirtsleeves spreading warmth to her palm in the cool twilight air. Feeling immensely bold, she stroked her fingers there comfortingly. Dear Caspian, he was so young, so anxious to be a good King, and so desirous of Aslan's presence to guide him in that purpose. His gaze was full of questions, and she could only answer so many of them.

"It's all right," said Lucy softly, looking into Caspian's eyes and finding only goodness there now. She smiled. "You will see Aslan soon, I hope. It's part of ruling Narnia. Never knowing when Aslan will appear. But he doesn't have to appear to be with you."

Caspian sighed and looked down. "It would be a relief to know for sure. To see him, hear him with my own senses."

Lucy knew exactly what he meant. Months and sometimes years of waiting to walk with Aslan once more…hoping that they were ruling as they ought, knowing he had entrusted Narnia to them. But somehow the words would not come tonight, as the sudden rush of empathy made her strangely tongue-tied.

Instead, Lucy let her hand slip down to his side and nestled closer, and under the spell of the sense of connection between them, she leaned his head against his shoulder. Her heart began pounding unexpectedly, feeling his warmth next to her. She saw Caspian glance down at her, and she thought she saw a smile in return as he wound his arm around her and held her close. She held her breath and wondered if she was dreaming, but he was solidly real against her cheek, warm and strong and everything she had imagined he would feel like, holding her. Lucy pressed against him, craving the closeness of his touch, trying to savor every precious detail of this unexpected gift.

The skies around them were darkening now with purples and blues, and the Spear-Head was appearing directly overhead, the first of the bright Stars to appear in the heavens. Lucy felt the beauty and stillness of the evening wrap around her, mirroring the sweetness of Caspian's encircling presence. She breathed deeply to counter her racing pulse, but the feeling of plunging headlong into the depths of an endless sea only grew the longer she lingered by Caspian's side, his arm cradling her with aching tenderness.

Lucy did not mind the silence between them at all; far from it. Wordless understanding seemed to connect them as they watched more and more Stars emerge above them, and their meal was a slow and contemplative affair under the blanket of the growing night. The evening breezes off the sea began sweeping in, and Lucy was doubly thankful to take shelter in Caspian's arms, setting aside her mostly empty plate and relaxing further on the bench.

She glanced up at him as he finished the last bite of apple, her wandering thoughts drifting to the last time she had had apples in Narnia, in the days before she had first met Caspian. "It's nothing like the real thing, is it?" she said dreamily. "Straight from the orchard, crisp on a summer day…and even better when you are truly hungry and thirsty."

"Nothing at all," said Caspian. "It's the best taste in the world after a hard morning of training. I'm very glad you planted the orchard so close to the castle." Lucy could hear the smile in his voice, and the clink of the plate as he leaned to set it down on the deck and settled back next to her.

"And I'm very glad you kept it up," she replied. "We planted it the year we left…but there were others in Narnia, near Glasswater and Lantern Waste and, oh, too many to count! In the early years, you know. When there were no crops, and we had to start everything from scratch."

"I don't know if I could have done it," said Caspian in a low voice. "There were so many things to do in these three years…and that was _with _ established trade and government and industry. I truly can't imagine how you all did it."

"I don't know how exactly either," said Lucy, and she smiled at the thought. "It all seems like a dream sometimes." She fell silent for a moment, remembering those hard first few years, but also the many beautiful and thrilling things they had brought as well. The rushing waters of spring, the dancing Dryads and Naiads, the joy of the Talking Beasts at the approach of their beloved monarchs, the rustle of the Tree People who would wake at her touch and whisper, the leaves and soft grass under her bare feet as she ran to join the circle on the Dancing Lawn…

Lucy swallowed hard. She buried her head against Caspian's shoulder, knowing he would understand. "I miss Narnia," she said thickly. "I want so very much to go back there, just one more time. I love the _Dawn Treader_…but Narnia was _home._"

He put both arms around her this time, pulling her close against his chest. She blinked back tears at his gentle comforting embrace, better than words could be. Lucy closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of his shirt, so familiar to her after all these weeks, the scent she had come to associate with the peace of sleep and comforting safety. That same feeling of security rushed over her as she relaxed into Caspian's sheltering arms, and the ache of separation from her home was a little less.

Caspian stroked her shoulder with reassuring fingers. Lucy twisted to sit up a little, and turned her head and gave the smallest of smiles up at him. "Tell me about Cair Paravel. I hope it looks better than it did last time we were there."

In the darkness she could see his eyes brighten with amusement and interest. "Oh yes, you wouldn't recognize the place! Well, perhaps that's not _such_ a good thing…but I tried to consult every possible source for the rebuilding, and though I'm sure it's not what it was in your time, it seems very Narnian to me…"

Lucy soaked in the details of his descriptions of the newly restored Cair Paravel, transported by his words back to the land she loved so well, and glad that he was the one who could tell her of it, if she could not go there herself. Night fell in earnest, and the _Dawn Treader_ glided ever on and on, further East, toward the morning sun and all the adventures it promised.

* * *

_The King set forth boldly through the shadows of the trees, and he did not fear the magics that were rumoured there, for his heart was stout and his will was strong for whatever adventure perchance lay ahead of him._

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**A/N:** ::Happy sigh:: And so it begins. I would LOVE to know what you thought, if you like the direction this is going ;-). Be sure to let me know and leave a little review here! Lucian LIVES! :D_  
_


	10. Silver Starlight

**Chapter 10: Silver Starlight  
**

**Chapter rating: **Low T.

**A/N: **Well, after MUCH BUSYNESS and side projects, I'm back! Thanks for sticking around, and so much love to everybody who's been favoriting and following and commenting. Also, some thanks are in order: rthstewart for being an AWESOME AMAZING IMAGINATIVE source of support who gives me so many wonderful ideas and inspiration (thanks for helping me establish naturalist Eustace, debatist Edmund, and NATURIST LUCY); and OldFashionedGirl95 for POETRY, betaing, squeeing, and general over-the-shoulder-watching on this chapter. And MANY LATE NIGHT GIGGLES. Ahem. More to come on that front...Anyways, enjoy!

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_Not all enchantments need to be broken… _

* * *

Was there a more perfect way to sleep than under the Stars, beneath a canopy of old friends watching over you, and the gentle motion of the waves cradling you? Lucy couldn't imagine anything better, nor a more perfect spot than the one she had secured. She'd had her eye on it since her first rovings over the Dawn Treader, and just as she thought, it made a fine nest with a spectacular view of the heavens overhead, and private from the rest of the ship.

The left dragon wing of the upper deck curled up and around a little alcove wherein were stored a nice pile of canvas sails, nets, and ropes which made as neat a bed as she could hope for. The edge of the wing kept any rain off (although with nights as fair and balmy as these were, she would not need to worry about that at all), while affording her an expanse of Northern and Western sky to gaze upon in peaceful wonder.

Lucy gave a contented sort of sigh. It was just like the nights she used to sleep aboard the _Aureal Gazelle,_not so long ago really, and not so much further West than they were now. The Stars seemed so much closer somehow, even larger than she had remembered them, and brighter. Oh, it had been too long! How she had missed Ashtiel's brilliance, Ranior's wisdom, Eleluth's fierce kinship…

And to think, Caspian had been worried about her not having a place to sleep! Lucy laughed softly. He had first tried to convince her that there was room for one more hammock in the little cabin, which there decidedly was not, and when she snickered at the thought of Eustace's disgust at more occupants crammed into the "poky little hole," he had to agree with her. "Very well, then, take my bunk!"

Lucy had just grinned at him and tossed her head. "Haven't I taken enough of your lodgings? It would be dreadfully rude of me to put you out again. Thank you very much, but if it's all the same I'll make my nest on-deck, just as I used to do in the old days."

She was not the only one sleeping under the Stars that night. Across the deck she could hear the buzz of voices, too low to distinguish, keeping a lazy stream of conversation long past the night duties were completed. Above her, the faint syllables of Reepicheep singing from the lookout in the dragon's mouth drifted down, a wistful tune that reminded her of an old ballad she had herself sang, a thousand years ago in their time.

Ashtiel seemed to almost dance over her, so bright and twinkling was his Star. He used to appear so on nights that were cold and clear, when she would bundle up and sit upon the shore of the Eastern Sea and sing the lay she had composed for him. It was still a wonder to her that the heavenly beings, with their celestial music of unbearable aching beauty, would find her poor songs pleasing. And yet somehow, they had blessed her offerings and given her wondrous music of the Spheres in return.

Even before she'd come to Narnia, Lucy had always hummed bits of tunes to herself, but it was in those early nights, those nights of lying half-frightened under the expansive darkness knowing she was only one little girl against all the evils out there, that she first sang to the Stars, not even knowing their names, making up melodies and words to fit. It still made her smile to think of the first time one of them had sung back to her. She had been breathless with astonishment, as the glowing figure shimmered against the inky backdrop of the night sky and filled its canvas with a song so cold and sweet and beautiful that she could only listen and weep.

It made her ashamed of her meager ditties, the untrained hummings of a simple Daughter of Eve, that she had dared to offer to these wondrous songsmiths. But far from taking offense at her presumption, they sang back to her and taught her their names and their natures, as different as the Narnian Beasts and Birds themselves. As she grew, so did the songs she sang to them, for she had years and years to spin each ballad as she came to know each Star as a friend.

It was her one sorrow that she could never remember the glorious music of these Spheres; their beauty and power were too bright, and Lucy was left with only the distant echo of their refrains, the vague memory of a memory. She strained to remember, thinking sometimes that the harmonies were _right _there, just out of reach, and she couldn't touch them for all that she tried.

What she _did _remember, though, were the songs she herself had crafted, joyfully and humbly, throughout the years. Lucy tilted her head back against her canvas pillow, the long-practiced lines flooding back under the watchful eagerness of the Stars—had they been waiting all this time for her songs again? Ashtiel winked at her, as if urging her to sing his now.

The tune was still as keen to her as the night it had first come to her, a frightened little girl in the wilderness of the Western Wilds, hearing the distant howl of wer-wolves and the wicked cries of Hags and who knew what else. She'd been too proud to crawl over to Peter's bedroll and cower next to him like a child with bad dreams, as she might have done a year ago, a month ago even.

To shut out the fearful noises, she had hummed a simple tune to herself, and whispered pleading words for help from the brilliant kindly-looking star that shone through the trees. "_O White Wayfarer_— she'd sung under her breath, knowing the listening ears would hear and making up the words as she went. _Warm-twinkling bright-star, who watches on high, Look down on me, incline your ear._

From the blackness around her, the faint cry of something terrible echoed, but Lucy kept her eyes fixed on the ever-growing light of the star above her._ Bend to my song, and shine on me, as in the howling dark I wander, so small a wayfarer in these wild black woods._

Somehow, as she sang, concentrating on what words should come next, Lucy did not feel so afraid anymore. The Star was listening, she knew. _Surround me in the shelter of your starbeams. O Night-star, watch over me._

The dark wood had grown silvery-light, and that night Ashtiel had come down to her and sung _his _song to the Valiant Queen who trembled on the forest floor.

Now the soft slap of the waves against the keel was in place of the howl of wer-wolves, and the motion of the ship under her was more soothing than the crunch of leaves in a forest bed. But the words still came back to Lucy, the song she had sung a thousand times to Ashtiel when she had come to know his name, his place in the sky. In memory of that simple song she had offered him as a child, she had not changed much when she set that stanza down, lovingly decorating its pneums with points of brilliant color and embellishment.

Gazing at her first friend of the Narnian Heavens, Lucy sang once more the lay of the Leopard Watchman. Overhead, Ashtiel shimmered and seemed to grow even bigger and brighter, and Lucy smiled and waved, feeling like a little girl again saying hello to her old friend, too happy to speak.

Then another point of light caught her eye: below the Leopard, a collection of Stars had appeared, just in view. What...? There were no such constellation around the Leopard! She stared at the pattern, trying to trace any familiar shapes that would give her a clue as the Stars' identity. No, these were none she had ever seen before; they had a hard sparkling edge, like the cut edge of a jewel in sunlight, but no comfortable twinkle of familiarity, of warmth and _Narnian-ness._

Further to the East, another unknown sprinkling of bold lights was rising, a mystifying presence there. Who were these new Stars? She was sure she had never seen them before, and she knew the Stars nearly as well as any Centaur.

Lucy drew a deep breath, feeling as though strangers were suddenly invading her company of friends and watchers. It gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach, to think that perhaps no living eye had ever seen these Stars, neither Centaurs nor Dryads nor Narnian Queen or King. They were interlopers on the horizon, beings she did not know, and she had no idea if they were friendly as her dear Stars were. Were they going to crowd out the constellations she knew, one by one, the further East they went?

It was a terrifying thought. Looking for comfort, Lucy twisted her head to look once more at the familiar faces in the sky. Unconsciously she pressed the blanket closer around her, up under her chin, and inhaled, but it smelled like soap and the wood of the locker it had been stored in. Not at all like...

She sighed and turned over.

* * *

By the next night, the evening carousings in the Poky Little Hole had resumed, and Eustace was in fine form that night. Of course, Edmund knew exactly what he was getting them into, bringing up the common opinion aboard the _Treader _as to what was at the World's End.

Lucy settled onto the cushions of her perch next to Caspian's hammock and shared amused glances with him as the two cousins debated.

"It's all rot," said Eustace with a firm shake of his head. "We can't just _fall off _the edge, as you'd know jolly well if you knew anything about Einstein!"

"You don't think Einstein would have some additions to his theory if he ever came to Narnia?" said Edmund, grinning.

"That's irrelevant. Physics doesn't change just because we're in another world. If I jump off the side of this boat, I'll still crash into the sea."

"That's Newton, idiot, not Einstein."

Eustace screwed up his face. "I know the difference between Newton and Einstein! My point is, special relativity ensures that any free fall would be inertial motion. Assuming there's an edge at all. Which I doubt."

"Who is this Einstein fellow?" asked Caspian, raising an eyebrow. "And should I be following all this?"

"No," said Edmund firmly. "Eustace's just showing off."

_"Showing off?"_ choked Eustace. He spluttered for a moment. "You think we could bloody _fall off the edge of the world _and you're blithering about showing off?"

"Nobody's worried," said Edmund. "It's just a possibility."

"It's all in Einstein!" Eustace insisted. "We'll see it coming long before it would actually happen! The speed of light is constant, regardless of the gravitational pull - " He began fishing around in his pockets, no doubt for something to draw it all out on.

Dreamily, Lucy chanted,  
_"There was once a young lady named Bright_  
_Whose speed was far faster than light_  
_She went out one day_  
_In the usual way_  
_And returned home the previous night."_

Edmund snorted. "Oh, Lu."

"That sounds very well," said Caspian. "Is it a riddle?"

"That's not how relativity works!" shouted Eustace.

"Think of all the adventures you could have if it _did!" _said Lucy.

"Dreadfully confusing ones," said Edmund.

"I'd like to meet this young lady," said Caspian, grinning at Lucy. "Her talent could be quite useful."

"If I knew her myself, I'd introduce you," said Lucy. "And we could all go tramping around the world and be back in time for dinner."

"Am I the only one taking this seriously?" demanded Eustace.

"Pretty much," said Edmund.

By now, Eustace had produced a bit of pencil and little black notebook with pages that were very wrinkled as though they'd been waterlogged. He scribbled furiously and launched into a long lecture that was punctuated with frequent exclamations of _uniform motion_ and _rotational masses_, at which point Edmund argued against the likelihood that Narnia _was _a rotational mass, and Caspian observed drily that Doctor Cornelius would be very sad to miss such a meeting of scientific minds.

Lucy just shook her head at the idea of _calculating _about the End of the World, and raised her eyebrows at Caspian as the other two continued to debate whether general relativity would have any effect on a Narnian ship. "Even without a round world, we still must be moving through luminiferous aether!" Eustace was insisting.

"Now you _are _showing off," said Edmund.

Caspian grinned and quietly draped a blanket around her shoulders. Lucy hid her smile in the soft folds of the fabric.

* * *

Still invigorated from the merriment of the evening, Lucy was too thoroughly awake to nod off easily, though she could see by the position of the Stars that it was past midnight. She nestled down further into the pile of sails, soaking in the peacefulness around her. The night was still and clear, the moon nearly full and casting a silvery glow over the entire _Dawn Treader, _turning the purple mainsail a lustrous rippling argent_._The sweet-salty smell of the zephyrs that filled the evening air set her dreaming, as the night breezes from the waves blew across the ship and cooled the sun-warmed deck. She breathed in deeply, reflecting that there could not be a more moment than right now.

The sound of steps on the floorboards outside the little alcove made her sit up. Who would be about so late? Lucy strained to see a figure emerge in the darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight and faint lantern-light.

She smiled as she recognized the visitor. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Hungry," Caspian explained sheepishly, gesturing to the little bundle in his hand. "Didn't fancy a ham as a midnight snack. Care to share?"

Lucy was not at all opposed to the company. "I can smell the sweet cakes from here. I would be very glad to share in the spoils."

He settled down beside her on the nest of canvas and nets and handed over one of the honey-sweetened pastries. "So this is what you so easily gave up my cabin for," he teased as he began to partake. "Edmund said you'd found a dragon's wing as your new home."

"I hadn't thought I could be any happier than I already was," said Lucy, "but sleeping under the Stars, I think I am just about the luckiest girl in the world." She glanced at Caspian in between bites of the flaky cake. The moonlight was glancing off his golden hair in a very distracting way and gave a kind of ethereal softness to his face. It was no different than appreciating beauty in any other form, she told herself, allowing her gaze to linger a little longer than necessary on the snowy whiteness of his shirt, the lean grace of his form curled next to her...

Lucy cleared her throat. "You should try it sometime. It's a wonderful place to stargaze."

"Better than simply standing on deck?" he challenged, returning her evaluating glance with a quirk of his brow.

"Oh yes! No need to crane your neck to look up, and then when you are simply laying under the blanket of the skies, it is – well – here!" Lucy gave an impish grin and finished the cake. "Better to see it for yourself than explain it." She impulsively took hold of his arm and tugged him down with her.

Caspian laughed as they collapsed against the canvas in a heap. Lucy found herself breathless not just with laughter but from her boldness at getting Caspian flat on his back next to her. She threw him an amused glance, only to find he was turned in her direction, looking at her and not the Stars at all. Even in the silvery light, she could see his expression was full of joy and contentment, and something else she dared not name.

Lucy had not thought through the effects of her impulsive actions. Her arm was still tangled with his, her hand against soft linen and warm muscle underneath, and her attention was thoroughly distracted from her intended purpose in dragging him down. She felt light-headed. "You're not going to see any Stars facing this way," she said, her voice hitching slightly.

"Are you so sure?" said Caspian with a little smile.

Lucy caught her breath. "Yes, quite sure! Now _look."_

The heavens were a much less dangerous field of vision, and they had a wonderful calming effect on her wildly beating pulse, though she could not quite forget the points of contact where she and Caspian still touched.

The Stars seemed very near tonight. Lucy tipped her head back to take them all in for a moment, trying to decide where to start. The strange new constellations nagged at the edge of her view, and she pushed the thought of them away in favor of her old friends. "Look, there's the Ship, do you see it?"

"The three stars in a row there? It's beautiful...so brilliant tonight."

"Those are the Three Sisters, who sail the night sky and light the way for adventurers – Tethys, Thalassa, and Thetis. They're the mast, and around them their children form the sails. Their lovers are the sides of the ship – Straton and Pangiotakis and Nikator." She pointed to each Star in turn, recalling their stories, their songs, the memories they brought.

"It always gives me a thrill to see the Ship return to the sky each year, for then I know summer's coming, and the holidays and the wonderful times then." As she spoke, Lucy faltered a bit, but pressed on. "Even when we'd forgotten why the summer was the holidays, we still knew it _was_, somehow."

"When the days are long and the nights are warm, and there is no end to the adventures you can have," said Caspian, and she nodded, feeling a smile tug at her lips. He _knew._

"So there's that. And the Hammer you know, to the left and up from the Ship."

"I know its shape, but not its stars. You are a better student of the heavens than I."

"I'm no scholar, not like the Centaurs. But the Stars are my friends, and I know and love them all dearly."

"_All _of them? There are a great many stars, Lucy."

"I had a lifetime to know them," she whispered. Her throat suddenly tight with emotion, Lucy felt Caspian's hand slide down her arm to wrap around her fingers. She clung to his hand, grateful for his wordless support.

Silence fell between them for a few moments, as Lucy took deep breaths and looked once more at the canopy surrounding them overhead. Though there was wistfulness in this reverie, there was joy there too. The night was too peaceful, the glide of the _Dawn Treader _upon the waves too soothing to be troubled long.

She smiled as she felt Caspian's thumb brushing over her palm in soft comforting strokes. His voice broke through the darkness. "Tell me which is your favorite."

Lucy gave a little sigh of happiness. "My favorite is there – the Leopard." As always, Ashtiel was glinting down over them, watching the lands and seas as he had done for a thousand years and more. She followed the Cat's graceful leap in the sky with one hand, while keeping the other curled around Caspian's. "The bright one is Ashtiel, and Ranior is to his left; they are the Leopard's eye and head. Eleluth is beside them, and her Starmaiden, forming the flanks and legs; Keto is the tail."

Caspian followed the tracings of her finger, leaning his head close to hers to see each mark from her angle. "I remember the Leopard – Doctor Cornelius said it had one of the most recognizable patterns and can be seen almost year-round. It's one of my favorites as well. Don't you think its stars shine a kindly warmth?"

"I've always thought so, even as a child, before I knew their names," said Lucy. The same sense of connection she had felt the other night was once more settling over her. Caspian too had felt the warmth of the Leopard's light, had traced its familiar pattern overhead and watched its Great Dance in the heavens. "My first song was to Ashtiel, for he seemed to me such a friendly Star, one that might watch over me when my way was dark. I knew somehow he would hear me, and though I didn't know anything about the Stars, I still sang to him with every bit of myself."

"Do you still remember the song?"

This made her laugh. "I have sung it a thousand times. It's a simple song, but it reminds us both of the little girl-Queen who first sang it in her time of need."

Caspian's hand tightened around hers. "That is a beautiful image, Lucy, but..._reminds us both?_"

"I told you, Ashtiel is my friend, my first among the Stars."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have met him," she said. "Oh, Caspian, I wish I could show you! The Stars—they are not just points of light—they're _real! _They can walk and talk among us if they choose. It is always a very great honour when they do so."

She heard an intake of breath beside her. "And you have? Walked with them?"

Lucy turned her head to look at Caspian, smiling. "I've danced with them, which is the most wonderful thing of all."

Across his face was written astonishment, curiosity, and an eagerness that was almost envy. "You continue to amaze me," he said with deep fervency. "You have seen and known so many wonders. In such a short lifetime, you have experienced things no living man has dreamt of…"

What he said was true—she _had _been blessed with a lifetime of memories. Lucy felt deeply humbled. "I wish I could share them—it seems selfish to keep all these things to myself."

"You can share them with me," said Caspian softly. "I would be glad to hear of them all." He cupped her hand in his own, as if she held her memories there and might spill them into his hand.

Words were harder. "Where to start?" she said, half to herself.

"Start with the song to Ashtiel," he urged. "It is a song from your heart, is it not?"

Lucy searched his eyes wonderingly. "How did you know?"

They were dark, intent on her face lifted toward him. "The way you spoke of it. With such passion, joy...There is a story behind it, one that means a great deal to you."

That he had been able to sense all this from just a few brief words...Lucy was overwhelmed. Clinging tightly to his fingers, she told him as well as she could of the night she had first learned that Narnian Stars could walk and talk among them. The wind seemed to catch her voice and carry it upwards and around them, setting her song upon the wind:

_O White Wayfarer_—

_Leopard's lightfooted lookout, who watches the world_

_Look down on me, incline your ear, bend to my song_

_and shine on me, as in the silver starlight I wander_

_so far from the tree-woven forests of home._

_Faring once more in the shelter of your starbeams_—

_O Ashtiel, watch over me._

The bright Watcher stood his post throughout the night, shining tenderly over the golden-haired King and Queen who lay murmuring and then slumbering peacefully on the deck of the dragon-prowed Narnian vessel.

* * *

_And the Queen's enchantment? Did it need to be broken? Or did it simply need to be fulfilled?_

* * *

_..  
_

_..  
_

**A/N: **So, I played fast and loose with the conversation from the end of VDT about Narnian geography, the End of the World, and discussions of Earth's physics. Hope you don't mind...Eustace's application of Einsteinian relativity was just TOO good to pass up. **  
**

All poetry in this chapter is courtesy of OldFashionedGirl95, Poet-in-Residence Extraordinaire. She was very kind to lend me both free verse AND limericks, free of charge!

If you haven't already, remember to sign up for alerts and then make my entire week and leave a review, and I promise I will squee with delight when I see a "New review" email in my inbox. Love!


	11. Steel Arms

**Chapter 11: Steel Arms  
**

**Chapter rating: **K+.

**A/N:** Once more, thank you so much to everyone who has urged me to continue! You're the reason I write! I love each and every review to death! :D Also, a big thanks to the usual suspects (oldfashionedgirl95 and rthstewart) for betaing and idea'ing and everything else. I worldsmushed quite a bit with OFG to come up with dragon headcanon (more like I went I CAN HAZ DRAGONS? and she said U CAN HAZ THEM) and so this is the result. Plus sword-fighting and assorted Lucian feels. :D

* * *

Lucy woke to a pale dawn creeping over the sky, the jumble of voices on deck, the smell of breakfast drifting from the galley...and no sign of Caspian. Well, of course, she realized, stretching and yawning, he would have crept back to the cabin at some point during the night. She must have slept right through it.

Slept. Her stomach did a queer little flip-flop that had nothing to do with hunger. The evening's expanse of songs and whispered confessions came rushing back over her with blinding clarity. Just remembering them brought a smile and a rush of heat to her cheeks, innocent and even platonic a tryst as it was, certainly nothing as bold as what she might have done as Queen…and a grown-up, Lucy thought with a sigh. These days, her body seemed to have a quite different scale of what could make her heart beat faster.

It had seemed so simple, last night, to fall asleep nestled against Caspian's side, her hand in his, and her heart pulled ever closer to him with each passing moment. Being with him like that, sharing the memories and songs of a lifetime ago, had brought her back to the days of the _Aureal Gazelle_, when she and – Lucy pulled the blanket about her for a moment, remembering, but without bitterness now – Torin would have slept thus, under the stars. Those were some of the most beautiful memories she had. Reliving them – no, not exactly that, but feeling the same wonderful thrill of emotion – was a joy she had not expected to be given was just a different kind of joy.

Lucy took a deep breath. Caspian was not Torin. She could not make this more than it was. Yet…was it so very wrong to let herself feel this way again? Just for a little while?

She couldn't answer this question, but she _could_ get up and get dressed for the day. Which would be the sensible thing to do. The day before, she had gathered up her things and stored them in one of the lockers of the stern cabin, so that she need not disturb Rhoop when she was getting ready. She still had the use of Drinian's washroom, which made things easier (not to mention much more comfortable than if she had _not _had access to a private head and tub!).

Being the only woman on board was inconvenient at times. Before reaching the Lone Islands, she had wondered what on earth she was going to do about underclothes, as that was the one item _not_ easily obtainable. Thankfully, they had made it to Narrowhaven by the third day, and when everything was settled there she mined the shops for whatever she might need. Lucy had decided there was no point muddling with skirts or corsets or any of that nonsense, and instead stocked up on buskins and boy-sized trousers and jerkins and a beautiful razor-sharp short-sword. (She _did_ take the precaution of buying a supply of sponges at an apothecary, remembering the acceleratory effect of Narnian time on her bothersome menses and no Susan this time to come to her aid.)

The _Dawn Treader_ was already buzzing with activity as the sun peeked over the horizon. "Hullo Reep," she said to the Mouse who was surveying the waters ahead from the neck of the Dragon. "Any change?" His song, the Dryad's song over his cradle, was the first new Narnian music she had learned on board, and she asked him daily if the sky was any closer to meeting the water. They would know very soon, of course, if the waves grew sweet.

Reepicheep's whiskers quivered. "Not yet, your Majesty. But soon, I hope. The Stars are changing. We are closer to the East than ever."

Changing Stars. _That's what I'm afraid of, Reep._ But of course she couldn't say that to the Mouse. So Lucy nodded and went down the stairs to the main deck.

She greeted the crew members by name, remembering with a guilty start that she had not done most of her regular chores for a day or two. (She had remembered to feed Coriakin's hens, though.) She waved to Caspian and Drinian at the helm on the poop deck, then shook herself firmly. _No more shilly-shallying. Back to business!_

Right. The first thing to do then was to check on Rhoop and bring him some breakfast. She was concerned that he was not gaining strength, physically or mentally, even with proper food and rest. He could not join the rest of the ship for more than a few moments, too frail in body and spirit to be out of bed for long. Drinian had spoken with him, only to shake his head at the condition of the broken Lord.

Rhoop's nightmares continued, only slaked by the drop of cordial she added to his wine each night. As gradually the tension would fade from the distraught Lord's face and he fell asleep, Lucy found herself humming the refrain she had sung to dozens of children with nightmares at Cair Paravel, which she had even sung herself on the worst of nights in the deep forests:

_We have no fear of phantom claws_  
_ For we are in the Lion's paws._

The verses, written during the Long Winter, were rather on the eerie side for comforting someone who had lived those terrors for years, so Lucy murmured the tune under her breath, and spoke the lines with Aslan's name more loudly. She could only pray that Aslan would provide a way somehow for the comfort and healing that Rhoop so desperately needed.

This morning, he looked her way as she knocked and entered the little cabin, before turning his head once more to the painted animals on the wall and moaning a little. "It's day now…but night will come too soon…"

Lucy did what she could to comfort him, telling him about the wonderful things he would see when they returned to Narnia, and how they might get to see Aslan sometime, at the End of the World or coming back. As always when she mentioned the Lion, Rhoop seemed to grow calmer and less agitated, and Lucy herself felt a warming glow as she told him about what felt like to hug Aslan's neck, to bury your face in his fur and feel his courage seep into your skin.

Breakfast was a quiet affair; neither Edmund nor Eustace were inclined to continue last night's debate first thing in the morning. Eustace concentrated on finishing his breakfast so that he could get to his swordsmanship instruction with Reepicheep, and Edmund was, well, just-woken-up Edmund…that is to say, not very talkative.

It was a sleepy kind of morning, Lucy thought. Everyone seemed a little sluggish today. Some of the crew were still at the benches when Eustace got up, leaving Lucy and Edmund with their mostly empty plates and caffeine of choice. Suddenly Edmund grew talkative.

"Sleep well?" he asked, between sips of his second cup of coffee (black, of course).

Lucy raised an eyebrow over her steaming cup of tea. "Well enough. The nights are lovely—just like old times."

Edmund's look was telling. "I hear the trend is growing. You're not the only one sleeping on deck these days."

She did not know what to say to this.

"Want to talk?"

"What's there to talk about?"

_"Lu._ I bunk with the man."

"Oh, all right. Better than making a fuss _here_, goodness knows. But it'll have to be later. Got archery practice with Drizzlegrim after breakfast."

"Should be a jolly time," snorted Edmund.

"I expect it shall be," said Lucy, hiding a smile. She called out to the reedy figure who was, as usual, shaking his head over the human food that was sure to disagree with him. "Eh, Drizzlegrim? Ready for some targets on the poop deck?"

"A Marsh-wiggle is always prepared," replied Drizzlegrim banefully, "but you should steel yourself for disaster, your majesty. An eye poked out, a finger lost, bow-string burn..."

Edmund choked on his mouthful of coffee.

"I'll watch out for it," promised Lucy.

* * *

There were no eyes poked out or fingers lost, and though the archery gloves were too small for Drizzlegrim and too big for Lucy, neither suffered any injury to their bow hands from the practice. Halfway through, Cerdic finished his morning duties with the crew and joined them, despite the Marsh-wiggle's earnest warnings that the wind was very ill indeed for shooting. "Then we shall see who can shoot the best in foul weather," said Cerdic, with a grin at the fair skies and calm seas around them.

"And do try not to shoot any overboard," said Drizzlegrim. "But I'm sure it shall happen, all the same."

Lucy's aim was as steady as it had ever been, and the Narnian air did wonders for one's endurance. Still, she had nothing like the strength she used to as a full-grown Queen with years of daily practice. Her drawing arm trembled with the exertion after half an hour, and the back of her neck grew damp with perspiration. A few of her shots fell short, but the ones that flew far were straight and true, and she nearly matched the Marsh-wiggle for center hits, with Cerdic not far behind.

"Well shot, Drizzlegrim!" she said when they all laid aside their bows at last and shook hands.

Drizzlegrim shook his head. "Blind luck. I'll miss when push comes to shove, I shouldn't wonder."

Lucy nodded sympathetically. She wasn't about to try to argue a Wiggle out of his woes.

She had determinedly _not_ looked for Caspian in the meantime, although she could not help but notice he had joined in the sparring session on the main deck with Eustace and Reepicheep and the weaponsmaster. The clang of sword against sword and the shouts of the onlookers were responsible, she decided.

After putting away her own equipment, Lucy joined Edmund in watching the match. Reep and the weaponsmaster were in an earnest debate about the best counter in an attack from behind, Eustace looked thoroughly confused, and Caspian was grinning and fingering the hilt of his drawn sword.

"Look here, Eustace," said Caspian while the other two were still arguing the merits of ducking versus a spin-and-thrust maneuver. "In a surprise attack, you simply do whatever comes to you first. Like SO!" He suddenly sprang upon the unsuspecting Eustace, who put up his blade automatically and shoved him backwards.

"Bravo, Eustace!" cried Lucy.

"Use your instincts." Caspian recovered from the parry and swung his blade from the other side.

Eustace jumped, scowled, and shuffled quickly to the side, using his much shorter height and back to the rising sun to his advantage.

Lucy shared a quick glance with Edmund and smiled. Eustace was becoming _Narnian._

Reepicheep and Master Brand were watching now. "Assail his feet!" called the Mouse.

"Don't leave him so many openings!" said Brand.

Caspian pressed Eustace harder.

Lucy gripped the hilt of her own sword hard, unconsciously, trying to will Eustace to do what she would do in such a battle. Step back, lean, whirl behind, thrust…

It was all over for Eustace, though. He had lost his grip on his sword, Caspian's third best (why on earth he insisted on using that one and not one of the several short-swords in the arsenal on board was a mystery). The weapon went flying out of his hands and onto the deck. The crew that had gathered around them let out a cheer at their King's victory.

"Well done, Sire," said Reepicheep. "And had my young friend heeded my advice about your feet, he might not have lost so soon."

Eustace huffed but shook hands nonetheless with Caspian before retreating to pick up his fallen sword.

"Another round, Eustace? I've gotten rusty," said Caspian, who was panting a little.

"No thanks!" said Eustace. "That's quite enough defeat for one day!"

"Brand, then? Reep?"

"I welcome any challenge, Sire," said Reepicheep. "But the right of acceptance belongs first to their Majesties." He bowed to Lucy and Edmund.

Caspian glanced up in their direction, and suddenly Lucy found herself meeting his eyes directly. They were the same clear blue they had been last night, the same invitation in his gaze that she saw so frequently when he looked at her. She took a deep breath. "I will," she said boldly. "Unless Edmund wants to have a go."

"He's all yours," said Edmund.

Caspian looked intrigued, and the corners of his mouth lifted.

Lucy met his gaze unflinchingly. "Though I am not much taller than Reep or Eustace – and certainly not any braver than a Mouse – I will try my hand."

"I cry you mercy," said Reepicheep to her. "My own courage is nothing to your Majesty's. Do you wish to borrow my rapier for the challenge?"

"Thank you, Reep, but no," said Lucy. "I've grown quite fond of my new blade." The Brennan steel, thin and light and strong, seemed to sing in her grip. It almost made up for the loss of her old sword, Elior, which they had not found in the treasure vault of Cair Paravel on their last trip to Narnia. She wondered where it had got to.

"Good luck," said Eustace glumly. "He doesn't let up."

"Neither does Lucy," said Edmund with a grin.

She stepped forward to face Caspian and drew her sword — Lucy supposed she would need a name at some point — and brought her to face his Anthuring. ("Of course I was reluctant use Rhindon myself, " Caspian had explained to her early on in the voyage. "Even if Peter did give it to me. Then the Dwarfs forged this one for me, as a sign of their loyalty, Trumpkin said, and I would be wise to accept it. So Rhindon is a royal treasure now, and used for ceremonial purposes, and Anthuring is my working sword.") It was just long enough that it could be used in a pinch on horseback, and of course much larger and heavier than her own. But that in itself was not a great difficulty for an experienced dueler.

Caspian's superior strength and height, on the other hand, were. She would have to employ every advantage of speed and ingenuity that she could muster.

Then he smiled at her, and Lucy's heart beat faster for an entirely different reason. Caspian's white shirt, half translucent, was clinging to his skin, she noticed. The bright sunlight made his hair shine golden and his face glow bright and eager, and she wanted to linger and admire the way his arms curved with muscle as he gripped the sword. Hang it all, she needed to concentrate if she was going to have any chance at all.

Lucy leveled her Brennan blade between them, undaunted. "Don't hold back," she said, grinning. "Let's see what she's got…"

It had been too long since they'd fought; not since the Lone Islands, in fact. Caspian was a well-trained opponent; he had mastered the art of Telmarine swordsmanship, in addition to training in Narnian combat, and therefore a fierce combatant with many tricks at his disposal. Not to mention a much longer sword.

Lucy had to move quickly to avoid the battery of blows from Caspian, who took her at her word and did not hold back a bit. Though he was nearly a foot taller than her, she was quicker and lighter on her feet, and danced around him with sprightly steps, avoiding the rain of attacks from his blade with careful footwork. From time to time, his sword would clash against her knife in a tremendous ring. She pressed him, searching for any openings she could use to her advantage, and she saw his mouth twist in a fierce grin as he met her challenge and pressed against her even harder, seeking any weakness in her defense.

She was ready for him. Instinctually, she remembered how to move to fend off each blow, block every move, turn each attack into one of her own. The key, Lucy told herself, was to not think of Caspian. Err, rather, don't think sword against knife, but of the weaknesses of the opponent, rather than one's own weaknesses. Oh bother.

Her muscles remembered, even if her mind faltered. She dodged a sharp thrust and heard a chorus of cheers from the crowd around them. Lucy grinned but kept up her guard, searching for any gap in Caspian's defense. He kept a solid front against her attack, steady and strong to her quickness and lightness. They were evenly matched.

"The feet, your Majesty!" called Reepicheep.

Lucy quickly shook her head. A Mouse might employ such tactics with honor, but a Queen needed a more subtle solution…

She let Caspian back her up against the rigging, feeling the ropes cutting into her back as she fended off his blows. With her free hand, she scrabbled behind her. There….

Taking a deep breath, Lucy sprang up on the lines, grasping them with one hand and balancing.

"Are you sure that's wise, Lucy?" he said in a low voice.

"Not at all," she said, laughing a little. It was a risk, to be sure, but a calculated one.

He swung toward her with the flat of the blade, trying to knock her off balance, but she ducked easily. With no impact, Caspian turned along with the motion of the blade, and Lucy used the second of recovery time to spring from the rungs, throw her entire weight against his, and hope he didn't have a solid stance.

He didn't. Before he could stop himself from stumbling and falling backwards, Lucy had the edge of her blade an inch from his throat. "Not wise. But it worked."

Caspian smiled ruefully. "I forfeit, Queen."

Lucy heard a splatter of applause from the watching crew. But it was Caspian's admiring gaze that made her warm with pleasure. "Well they named you Valiant," he said, for her ears alone, and she flushed and sheathed her sword.

* * *

Edmund lowered the spyglass and gave her a considering look. "So, Caspian, eh?"

No judgment, she knew, and no business of brotherly interference — he and Peter had learned long ago that when Lucy wanted opinions, she would ask for them — but still, she couldn't help feeling a little breathless. "I haven't the faintest idea, Edmund! I didn't intend to...to..."

"Fall in love this time," he said with a little nod. "I know you didn't. Nor did he. I won't speak for Caspian — it's not my place, and I shouldn't betray his confidences — but he thinks very highly of you, Lucy."

She wrapped her fingers around the side of the fighting top. "He's grown a great deal since last time we were here. He's more thoughtful, wiser. More Narnian." She felt as though she was trying to convince herself as well as Edmund that she was not foolish for feeling this way.

"He's a good King," said Edmund slowly. "He has much still to learn. Like we did. He has a bit of a temper. But then, so do you." He grinned.

Lucy put an indignant hand on her hip. "I like that! I've never had a fit of temper while I'm acting in my royal capacity." Here Edmund looked highly skeptical, and Lucy rolled her eyes. "Fine. _Rarely._ But honestly, if we could manage, I think Caspian will too. He at least was more prepared to rule!"

"Yes, he had the advantage there," said Edmund. "However, we're not discussing Caspian the King here."

Lucy sighed. Edmund usually could not be deflected in conversation from his intended goal. She had known Hounds more persuadable on the hunt than Edmund when he had a point to make. "Do you think it's very foolish?"

"Depends on what _it_ is."

"Caring for him." Lucy's voice hitched in the middle of her sentence. She looked down beneath them, at the sunlight catching the tossing waves.

"Lu." Edmund put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. You're not foolish at all."

"Then you think we might get to stay this time?" asked Lucy. She spared a glance at Edmund, who looked grave.

"There's the answer I'd like to tell you," he said slowly, "but...I don't want to give you false hope, either. Last time..."

Last time they had only stayed for a fortnight.

* * *

That evening in the "poky little hole," Lucy leaned against her perch on the floor of the bunk near Eustace's feet, clutching Caspian's blanket closer around her shoulders.

Edmund tucked into another sweet cake (filched from the kitchen after dinner). "Are there any dragons left in Narnia?"

This was just the sort of thing Edmund might come up with after a few minutes of musing to himself from topic to topic, without letting the rest of them know how he got there.

Stretched out in the hammock next to him, Caspian shook his head. "None at all. Just lizards. I didn't even know dragons were _real_ until—well—_you know."_

He cast a significant look at Eustace, who scowled. "That's nice!" said Eustace disgustedly. "I'll have you know I didn't _try_ to find any dragons."

"Just were being your regular old blighter self!" replied Edmund. "Avoiding work. As usual."

To avoid the inevitable argument—or scuffle—that would ensue after this cheerfully inflammatory remark, Lucy spoke up. "But Caspian, you must have had some idea of dragons before our adventure! You knew what to do about Eustace, for one thing. And then there's the paintings, in the cabin. They don't look very much like _our_ dragons, to be sure. Was there some variety in Telmar? I never knew of any others but the Narnian kind."

Edmund looked as if he very much wanted to comment here. "Well, as a matter of fact—"

"I was asking Caspian," Lucy said, laughing. If allowed, Edmund would give a very long-winded lecture about the history of dragons, their habits and habitats, their deviousness and cleverness in collecting astonishing hordes—Lucy didn't even know how that much gold _existed_—and the sole existence of the _Draco Narnia_ to the exclusion of all other countries. It did not matter, Edmund and Libruns had argued, if some desert tribe in Calormene worshipped a dragon-god that was not very like the Narnian kind at all; it must be a myth based on the same species, they were quite sure, given the complete lack of any other documentation to prove _Calormene dragons_ existed.

Lucy did not want to unleash the lecture. She gave a little shake of her head at Edmund as she glanced expectantly at Caspian.

He seemed amused (if a little confused) by this exchange. "Dragons were storybook legends, as far as I knew. Like Gryphons or Minotaurs. Or Talking Trees." He grinned a little at this.

"The paintings look almost serpentine," said Lucy, putting a finger to her lips in contemplation as she remembered the coiling red figures of the cabin.

"Yes, that's how they're pictured in the storybooks, with thick armoured hides and long bodies, and hardly any legs. They still breathe fire though."

"Were they clever in those legends?" asked Edmund.

"Not especially. Were they in yours?"

"They weren't legends," said Lucy, her eyes sparkling.

Edmund gave her a sardonic look. "The clever ones were." He turned to Caspian. "You see, the dragons always were too clever for their own good; in the old days, they could outwit almost anyone. And they thought they could outwit the White Witch. Well, they couldn't of course, but they tried. There was one chap, Milophylax—he was the leader of the dragons—a real blighter—he was the most clever and wicked of them all. I'm pretty sure he betrayed the Dwarfs to the Witch for their mines. Anyway, they all tried to get treasure out of the deal and did a lot of horrible things in Narnia before the Long Winter. Then when it came, they all died or flew off to other islands, like Eustace's friend—"

Eustace began hotly, "That's not—"

"Or they were frozen!" Lucy piped up, thinking of Chrysophylax.

"And all this is in the histories?" said Caspian in amazement.

"Not our dragons, no," said Edmund. "Although the court librarian had begun an epic history of the Age a couple years before we..." He trailed off. "I wonder what happened to it?"

"There was only one dragon left in Narnia by the time we came," Lucy explained to Caspian and Eustace. "He told us his cousin Milo had behaved dreadfully and he wanted no part of it. The Witch wasn't very happy about that, and so she froze him. Poor Chrysophylax was the only one to survive the Winter. For all that he was the least clever of the dragons, he managed to do what none of the others had."

"I have a theory about that," said Edmund. "About why Eustace's friend—no offense, old chap—didn't seem like the brightest drake on the block."

"I should never have told you _anything_," said Eustace, flopping miserably down on the bunk with his head in his hands.

"You see," continued Edmund as though he hadn't been interrupted, "in the old days dragons weren't solitary creatures like they seem to be now. They had councils and battles of wit and were always trying to steal each other's hordes by cunning. That's how they stayed so sharp. When the Winter came and the cleverer ones flew East to the islands, they probably became territorial and claimed an island each to themselves. No more battles of wits; no more incentive to stay sharp. And thus began a long decline in intelligence till the present day, ending in this shining young example of draconian brilliance." He gestured with a flourish to Eustace, who was still buried face-first on the bunk and only gave him a very rude gesture in return.

"Mightn't they have flown South instead?" wondered Lucy, who had plenty of practice at ignoring the boys' antics.

"You love your Southern dragons, don't you Lu?" said Edmund, shaking his head.

"Dragons are cold-blooded," she pointed out. "They like warm climates. And there's plenty of Calormene gold to steal." She glanced at Caspian. "No reports of fire-breathing monsters across the borders, then?"

"None whatsoever," he said, almost regretfully. "I'm sure if there had been, Reep would have raced immediately to challenge it to single combat."

"Oh, I do hope Eustace wasn't the last dragon!" said Lucy, sighing at the thought. "It was sad enough when we thought Chrys was the last one."

"And it turned out he wasn't, remember?" said Edmund. "Cheer up, Lu. We'll find Eustace a nice old she-dragon on one of these islands."

A muffled curse erupted from the bunk.

"In that case, I don't suppose you'd like me to tell that story," said Lucy. "About finding Chrys a mate."

Edmund grinned. "Some other day, perhaps. I'm feeling magnanimous toward our sensitive cousin there."

"Another story, then?" suggested Caspian. "With your dragon—the good but not so clever one."

"I defer to Lucy on that one," said Edmund. "She's the proper one to tell such a story, Chrysophylax being _her_ friend after all."

"Indeed?" said Caspian, looking at Lucy. "Somehow I don't find that surprising. Aren't you going to tell us about your friend, Lucy?"

"He was all of ours' friend," she said with a little shake of her head.

"But mostly yours," said Edmund. "And Susan's, and Elinda's." He leaned over to Caspian and muttered, "He had a weakness for the _ladies."_

Lucy choked back a giggle.

"Don't we all," said Caspian gallantly.

"Some of us more than others," shot Eustace from the depths of his misery, evidently determined to get _somebody_ back for all the jibes at his expense.

"Very well then," said Lucy quickly, feeling that they were on dangerous ground here. "A story. About Chrysophylax. And the Stone Knife. And it has Susan and Elinda in it, as it so happens."

She thought for a moment, preparing the story in her mind, then took a deep breath. "Hear, then, how the Queens Susan and Lucy and their most honorable companion the Lady Elinda did venture forth into the desert on the wings of the Brave Chrysophylax. This is the Tale of the Quest for the Stone Knife..."

* * *

Her tale completed, Lucy settled back and took the offered flagon from Edmund.

Caspian was still agape. "You—you _rode on Aslan's back."_

"Three times, actually," said Edmund. "I'm not saying she didn't deserve it, but sometimes it does seem like Lu has all the luck."

Lucy couldn't help smiling at the look on Caspian's face. "Well, the other times we were riding across land, coming to the aid of an army—the last time was yours, you know! And Caspian's, for that matter."

She cast a quick glance at Caspian, and met his gaze with a smile. "This one was quite different, since the battle had already been won, and we had nothing to do but jump across the Eastern Sea and find a place for the Knife. It was almost like flying, except that the leaps were _terrific._ Like jumping lilypads across the ocean. It's too bad I didn't get more than a peek at all the islands we bounded off. It might have come in handy."

"It must have been incredible," said Caspian. "To be so favoured by Aslan. I don't know that I would call it luck." He was gazing at her with an expression in his sea-blue eyes that unsettled her greatly; if she had to put a name to it, she would have called it reverence. Which was silly, for a _king!_

"Oh, Lucy was always his favorite," said Edmund placidly. "We all knew that."

Lucy was not at all comfortable with this turn of conversation. She rearranged her fingers around the flagon's bowl. "Susan was there too, each time. And anyway, that's not why I told the story! Chrysophylax was the real hero—breathing fire at an entire Haul of Hags! Carrying us across the desert into perilous dangers. Even the Knife didn't tempt him at all. He was a good dragon," she concluded wistfully.

"Yes," said Edmund, yawning. "Very brave, for all his lack of brains."

Caspian looked very thoughtful. "I wish we could return to those days," he said, and Lucy thought she heard the same wistfulness in his voice. "When you had such adventures, and Aslan came to Narnia often, and there was not just a single throne at Cair Paravel."

Lucy fingered the edges of the blanket with one hand. She wished this too, wished they could stay, return to Narnia and help Caspian, and they might have such wonderful adventures together, with more voyages, perhaps to the North next time, to chart out the Northern seas together, and she could be not just Queen but _his_ Queen...

She shook herself from the daydream; now was neither the time nor place for such fantasies.

"Well, why can't you?" said Eustace, popping up from his perch on the bunk. "At some point whenever we reach wherever we're going, we'll go back, right? Eventually you'll return to Narnia. And Ed and Lu are still King and Queen there."

"It's not the same," said Edmund, glancing at Eustace and shaking his head a little.

Eustace continued on doggedly. "Since Narnia is so peculiar about this business of lots of kings and queens, why couldn't you all three rule?"

Lucy looked down at the cup in her lap, growing more and more uneasy at this line of thought. That wasn't how it had worked last time...she had no guarantee that this time would be any different.

"That would be a dream come true," said Caspian; his voice sounded gentle to her ears.

"That's what I mean!" Eustace seemed determined to spell it out for them. "You're King, and Lucy's already Queen, so there's no difficulty there. And you're mad for each other. I don't know why you're all being so soggy about it."

Lucy exhaled sharply. She couldn't believe they were actually _talking _about this, here, now, so openly! She wished she could sink right through the bunk, through the floor, and to the bottom of the sea.

There was an uncomfortable silence. She didn't dare look at Caspian, or even Edmund...

"Come to think of it, since Narnia is so keen for its monarchy, you'd be consolidating power too, if you marr—OW, Ed, what was that for?"

"That's quite enough, Eustace," said Edmund firmly, all traces of sleepiness gone from his voice. "Shut it."

The urge to crumple was strong. Lucy struggled to stay in control of her feelings, determined not to lose composure. She knew Eustace didn't _mean _to distress her by bringing this up so casually, but she couldn't bear to hear him talk about it.

Lucy clenched the cup with both hands. Eustace just didn't realize that they had been sent back after only a few days last time. He was still thinking they had years and years, like the stories they told of their long reign in Narnia.

And Edmund was thinking of this too; she could see it in the knowing way he looked at her, compassion in his dark eyes. Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat that rose at his implicit understand and attempt to deflect Eustace's ignorance. _Dear Edmund._

She ventured a glance at Caspian at last. Though his face was contemplative, he seemed neither particularly upset nor despondent about Eustace's implications. In fact, he looked almost—optimistic. He offered her the shyest of smiles, and the lump in her throat grew larger.

"If I could bring you three back with me to Narnia, I would, and gladly," said Caspian. Lucy felt as though he was speaking directly to her. "Nothing would make me happier."

Something warm glowed inside her. "I'd like that too," she said simply, unable to put into words the depths of longing that she felt at the thought. "I want to stay, so dearly."

Caspian gazed at her as though he understood exactly all the things she'd left unsaid. "Your last voyage to these islands, no matter how brief, was with Aslan himself," he said slowly. "And you say he is with us, even now. Surely he knows your heart, and would not deny you its deepest wishes."

He was offering her hope, just as surely as she had offered it to him before. Lucy gave him the glimmer of a smile in return.

The tranquility of her solitary nest under the Stars called to her. With a sudden longing for its sanctuary, Lucy uncurled herself from the foot of the bunk and rose to her feet, clutching the blanket around her shoulders and setting the empty flagon down. "I think I shall bid you all goodnight," she said. "Edmund has been yawning for ages."

"Don't mind me," said Edmund, although he gave himself away with another broad yawn at the mention of it. She threw him a look of gratitude across the room as she turned to go.

To her surprise, Caspian rose too and followed her to the door of the cabin. Given the concluding turns of their conversation, Lucy felt self-conscious at the obviousness of his actions in front of the other two, but she couldn't help feeling a little glad too, knowing that he wanted to speak with her alone, after such an uneasy exchange amongst them all.

He accompanied her just past the door and into the hold, where the lights from the cabin behind them and the small lantern that swung from the ceiling beyond the rows of benches were the only relief to the darkness. His hand caught her fingers, and she turned and paused.

Even in such dim light, Lucy could see the play of expressions that crossed Caspian's features as he searched for words. She was entranced despite herself, studying the shadows of his face, the defined profile of his brow and nose, the sweep of hair across his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones and strong-set jaw, the contrast of his full mouth—_no don't think about that_—his eyes, yes, his eyes, but that was not much better, for they were dark and intent on her face and she was too glad for what they told her.

"Lucy..." he began.

She reached her free hand to his lips and touched them with the tips of her fingers. _Don't think about how soft his mouth is. _"Not yet, Caspian. There will be time enough to talk. Tonight, I just want to dream."

"I've done a great deal of that already," he murmured.

"Then another night or two won't hurt."

"For you, perhaps not." Caspian looked almost ashamed. "I'm not as noble as you, Lucy."

Lucy shook her head and clasped his hand tighter. "I'm not noble at all! I'm as human as you are. Not a legend, Caspian. I'm just a girl." The ache in her chest reminded her just how human she was, the flutter under her ribcage that whispered to her, _lean in, run your fingers over the beginnings of his beard, he wouldn't say no..._

The effort it took to keep still was all-encompassing. Lucy trembled when he brushed her cheek and said, very low, "But I want our story to be legend, Lucy."

What could she say to this, when she wanted no less? Her skin was aflame where he touched it; his gaze held her, transfixed where she stood, beguiling her to yield to the spell of the vision he offered. Oh! she had not felt this way since...since...

Lucy shook her head. "We're still writing it, Caspian. We don't know the ending—not yet."

He looked down, dropping his hand, and the spell was broken. "I'm sorry. I presume too much..."

"You're not presuming," she said softly. "It's not such a bad thing to dream."

His hopeful look at this remark made her bite her lip.

_Why must you look at me like that? I cannot bear it..._

The darkness and closeness of the hold was dangerous; he was too near. She had to make her escape before she did something stupid. "Goodnight then. Oh! I still have your blanket. I didn't mean to steal it. Here."

She started to unwrap the blanket, a bit reluctantly truth be told, and was secretly pleased when Caspian shook his head and settled it around her again. Even through the thick fabric, his touch was warm, solid on her shoulders as he wrapped her more securely in it.

"Keep it," he said. "You have more need of it than I."

Lucy was sorely tempted to linger. He hadn't removed his hands from her shoulders; the gesture had closed the gap between them, and he was closer than ever...

She had to think about this first. She shouldn't go rashly writing this story. But he was so warm, and she didn't want to be alone in the night again...

Instinctually, she leaned against his warmth. Caspian was firm and tall against her hand and cheek, and she wrapped herself around his solid presence, reveling in the strength of his chest, the grip of his arms around her shoulders. It was too much…not enough though…

Lucy inhaled. He was salty sweet, his soft shirt the same rich smell as her sheets these past days and weeks, as her clothes – his clothes – that she continued to wear though she had her own these past days. "Caspian…"

He pulled away and smoothed the blanket around her back, his fingertips grazing her waist. "Sleep well, Lucy."

Caspian disappeared into the cabin with a startling swiftness, leaving Lucy breathless and alone in the dark hold.

She returned to her Dragon's nest, his blanket in hand, and fell asleep with the familiar comforting smell of Caspian all about her once more.

* * *

..

..

**A/N: Courtesy of Oldfashionedgirl95, here are the missing verses to Lucy's song, which she mutters under her breath so as not to traumatize Rhoop too badly:**

_**Though wolf-howls shiver through the ground**_  
_**I find no terror in the sound.  
Though hoary branches leering groan  
The sight will never chill my bones  
I taste the deadened snow and grope  
For scraps of living, breathing hope  
For though She never Christmas brings  
In faith I smell the golden spring.  
We feel the wolf-howls through the ground**_  
_**But Aslan shields us all around.**_

_** What fear have I of tearing claws  
For I am in the Lion's paws**_

**Thanks and cookies to Poet-on-Demand and to all my lovelies who take the time to leave a review. They warm the cockles of my heart! I think I shall do something special for the 100th person to review...  
**


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